


And each man stands with his face in the light

by Mhalachai



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Court Politics, M/M, sword master - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: After the carnage on the fields of the Elven Wars, Viktor Ivanovich, general of the northern armies, was done with fighting. When Prince Regent Yuri asked him to track down the mysterious man who slew the Elven King, Viktor complies, hardly knowing how that one action will change his life forever...





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

And each man stands with his face in the light.  
Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.

-[Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Napoleon III in Italy ](https://www.accuracyproject.org/t-BarrettBrowning-NapoleonIIIinItaly.html)

* * *

It was the prince regent's sixteenth birthday, and Father Yakov was in a rage.

Viktor was not bothered. Yakov had been flying into rages for as long as Viktor could remember, and little harm ever came of it. Usually.

"...And this boy, our own monarch, now he refuses to take part in palace celebrations for his own birthday!" Yakov sputtered.

Viktor carefully turned a page in his book. He had been saving these poems to read on a quiet day, and now Yakov was disturbing his plans. "Yuri never wanted this extravaganza, and now you are surprised that he balks?"

Yakov spun around, nearly tripping over Makkachin as the dog lazed by the fire. Once he regained his feet, he said through gritted teeth, "The people want a celebration."

Viktor closed the book. From the sounds of things, there was to be no quiet for him today. "The people," Viktor said with unmasked disdain, "Or the nobles? Do they wish to see how our prince regent grows, much like they would look at a prize piggy in the market?"

Yakov threw up his hands and stalked across the room.

"Already I hear those who wish to marry the prince off for a political alliance."

Yakov came to rest against the window. He looked out at the expanse of the palace grounds, tentatively greening in the early spring. "The war is still fresh in many minds," Yakov said after a minute. "There are many who worry that this one young sprig of the royal line is too slender to take the weight of what it is to rule. Marriage might... strengthen him."

Viktor reached for his walking stick. "He has spent his life coddled by old men terrified of losing their place of power at the behest of the nobles," Viktor pointed out. Yakov did not reply. "And now that he is sixteen, they are doubly terrified that the prince regent himself will cast them out. If you push marriage on him before he is ready, even a politically expedient one, he will dig in his heels and refuse to ever marry. Is that what you want?"

Yakov removed his hat to rub at his bald forehead.

"What would you have me do?" Viktor pressed.

Yakov slapped his hat back on his head. "You are the prince regent's adviser," Yakov snapped. "Advise him!"

To what end? Viktor wondered silently. Listen to the old men of the court? Submit to a marriage for political gain? At what cost?

Still. Viktor Ivanovich, adviser to the prince regent of the northern lands, formerly general of the northern armies in the Elven Wars, would do what was best for the north and for the young prince regent on whose narrow neck so much rested.

With a final grumble, Yakov left the room. Viktor whistled to bring Makkachin over to his side. "Makka, my old friend," Viktor said while Makkachin licked his hand. "What shall I do?"

Makkachin woofed and wagged his tail.

"Yes, a good idea." Viktor braced the walking stick on the ground and levered himself to a standing position. His leg ached, as usual, but the sensation did not sharpen to pain. Not yet. "I should go to the prince regent and tell him that he should pick the battles he can win, yes?"

Makkachin sat down to scratch behind his ear.

Viktor sighed. He hobbled over to his dressing table. No one at court could appear before the prince regent in anything less than their best. Leaning the stick against the table, he reached out for his short cloak. With economical movements, he pulled the cloak over his shoulder, letting the fabric fall to cover what remained of his right arm, before fastening the clasp at his throat.

Makkachin yipped and stood up hopefully.

"No, my old friend," Viktor said. He put on his hat, smoothed down his beard. "We cannot go out to play yet. I must try to keep peace and order in our land."

After a quick glance at his reflection in the polished bronze plate hanging on the wall, Viktor regained his stick and walked out of his chambers, Makkachin at his side.

The halls of the palace were bustling on this auspicious day. Viktor was a familiar presence with his dog at his side, his limping gait and hunched shoulder oh-so-honorably gained in the last Battle of the Steppes in the Elven Wars, so many years before. He greeted servants and nobles alike as he made his way towards the prince regent's private quarters.

At the prince regent's doors, Viktor tapped his walking stick against the wooden frame, then waited until the door was opened by one of the guards. Motioning Makkachin to stay outside, Viktor went into the large room.

In spite of the brightness of the day shining through the open shutters, the fire roared hot and smoky. The only signs of life, other than the ever-present guards by the doors, was the cat on the floor pretending to murder an old mink hat.

Viktor peered around the smoky gloom as he removed his hat. "Prince Yuri?"

A movement from a low couch by the window drew Viktor forward. He tossed his hat onto a chair before poking at the lump of furs with his walking stick.

"Hey!"

"Good morning, my prince," Viktor said. He poked at the lump again. "The day is nearly over. The peasants have been in the fields for hours."

"So?"

Viktor yanked the furs off the couch. The dishevelled prince, not even dressed for the day, lay huddled over a book, which he attempted to hide from Viktor. "For every hour they work, you must work an hour and ten minutes." Viktor leaned on his walking stick like an old man. "For every drop of sweat they shed, you must shed two."

"I know the obligations of the throne," Yuri snapped. He scrambled off the couch and hurried over to his dressing table, where he quickly shut away his book.

Viktor limped after the boy. "Then tell me why you lay about like a lazy boy, on this day when you should be celebrating?"

Yuri grabbed his comb and began to untangle his long hair. For all that he was sixteen, the boy had yet to have his last growth spurt, and his cheeks were still bare. Viktor wondered, not for the first time, if Yuri would ever grow into the presence his grandfather, the Invalid King, had once had. "Father Yakov has educated me," Yuri snapped. "A ruler must be a man of letters as well as the sword. Is that not what my grandfather said?"

In the boy's rage, Viktor could hear an anger that he understood. "Yes," Viktor said. He shuffled over to sit on a chair, out of easy throwing distance from the prince regent. "King Nikolai was of that opinion."

Yuri let out a yelp as his comb ran into a knot. He threw the comb back onto the table as he whirled around to glare at Viktor. "Then why am I taught only my letters, and not how to fight?"

Viktor slumped back in the chair. "You are unmarried and with no other heirs to the throne, your other advisers thought it best that you not be placed in harm's way," he recited. "Yuri, we have talked about this before."

Yuri stood up. "And do the people respect a ruler who cannot protect himself?" he demanded as he stalked over to where his clothes were laid out for the day.

Viktor was silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the guards exchange a surreptitious glance. While Viktor trusted these men to protect Prince Yuri, had in fact hand-selected them from the ranks of the King's Guard, he also knew that soldiers talked, and what was said outside the castle was known inside.

He wanted to swear, but that was discouraged in the adviser to the prince regent.

Instead, Viktor flipped back his cloak and rested the stump of his arm against the chair back as he regarded the boy dressing for the day without the help of the royal attendants. Yuri had always been stubborn, even as a child learning to run without help in the palace halls. Then, the worst that could happen was skinned knees and a few bruises.

Now, a serious injury to the prince regent, sole ruler of the north as the king lay insensible in his sickbed of many years, could destabilize the region entirely, sending the nobles back into squabbles and civil war in the fight to find a new ruler.

Viktor knew this. Yuri knew this. And it did not matter, because if the army had no respect for the prince regent who commanded them, the region would fall apart anyway.

"Do you know what Yakov told me this morning?" Viktor asked mildly.

"Did he yell?" Yuri asked, concentrating on tying his belt.

"Yakov always yells," Viktor said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The day Yakov stops yelling, then you worry."

With a flip, Yuri's cat escaped the clutches of the old hat. Meowing, the small animal strolled nonchalantly over to rub its head against Viktor's walking stick.

Yuri reached for his next garment. "What did Yakov yell at you this morning?"

Viktor moved his walking stick, so the cat transferred its affection to Viktor's booted ankle. "He told me I was to come to advise you."

Yuri made a disgusted noise. "Is that what you call this?"

Viktor rested his head against his hand. "You chose me as your most favoured adviser when you reached your majority, two years ago," he pointed out. "All those old men chattering, and you said, bring me a man who stood on the steppes against the Elven King. Bring me a man who does more than just talk."

Yuri scowled at the gold thread embroidery on his robes. "I wanted them all to leave me alone," he muttered.

"Yes, well, you got what you asked for." Viktor leaned forward. "I served in your grandfather's armies, and now I serve you."

Yuri plucked the robe off its hanger. "Then advise me," he snapped. He pulled the heavy robe over his shoulders. "What will you tell me to do?"

"What do you want to do?"

Yuri worked on knotting the small cloth ties. "It does not matter what I want."

"Probably not."

Yuri smoothed the fabric of his robe, then went to fetch his boots. "What I want is to be a proper monarch," he said, not looking at Viktor. "I want to be able to do more than just learn out of books."

"And what do you think will help you in this noble venture?"

Yuri stomped his feet to settle his boots. "I wish to learn the ways of the sword," he said, finally turning to face Viktor. "I carry a sword into ceremonies, but I do not know how to fight with it." His cheeks were turning pink. "It is a humiliation."

Well, Viktor thought. That would solve the issue of how to put some strength into the boy. "And do you wish me to find you a tutor in arms?" Viktor asked. "The King's Guard has many excellent swordsmen; I can seek one who might best—"

"I want the Elvenslayer," Yuri blurted out, and the room went still. For a moment, Viktor couldn't breathe as the weight of memories crashed over him. It had been years since he had last seen the Elvenslayer, the warrior from a land far to the east, and for a moment the screams of battle and clang of swords rang in his ears.

Then the air rushed back in and Viktor could breathe again.

"You want to the Elvenslayer to be your tutor at arms," Viktor said, words careful on his tongue, for there must be no misunderstanding on this. "You want the man who slew the Elven King on the final field of battle to come here to teach you how to wield a sword?"

Yuri's face had gone red, but he did not look away from Viktor's glare. "I wish to learn from the greatest warrior in the world," he said. "I want to learn from the man who defeated the Eleven armies in the east and finally killed the Elven King." The boy moved forward a step. "They say that you were with him in the final battle," he said in a rush. "That you were there when he killed the King."

Viktor swallowed. There was a clanging in the back of his head, at memories dragged screaming into the light. He remembered that final battle as if it was yesterday. How he, Viktor Ivanovich, general of the northern armies, had finally faced down the Elven King on the field of battle, the strongest sword in history in his hand.

How he had fought against the Elven King, taller and stronger than any man, and despaired.

How the Elven King's sword swung through the air, slicing through Viktor's sword arm and sending him, screaming, to the ground.

How the Elven King had _laughed_ , had taken the time to stab his sword through Viktor's leg, before walking off, not even bothering to slaughter his enemy.

Then the boy was there, mud and blood on his face, his sword broken down to the hilt in his hand. _Let me help you,_ the boy had gasped in the common tongue, dropping his useless sword hilt into a pool of Viktor's blood.

 _Help us all,_ Viktor had gasped, reaching for his own severed arm and the sword it still held. He didn't even feel it as the boy looped a tourniquet onto Viktor's arm above the amputation. _I am already dead. Help those who are not!_

The boy had looked at Viktor, with eyes as deep as midnight, before diving for Viktor's lost sword and running after the Elven King.

As Viktor lay in the mud, bleeding to death, he had watched the boy attack the Elven King with a speed and strength that drove the King back in defence. Someone was screaming, screaming, as the two fought, mismatched in every way. The Elven King had the longer reach, the longer weapon, and armor that still sparkled under the blood of those he had slaughtered. The boy was bareheaded, wielding a sword that was nearly his own height, wearing only padded cloth as scant armour.

He should have died instantly. Instead, he matched the Elven King blow for blow, parry for parry. He fought with a skill Viktor had never seen, rage bleeding off his every movement.

And then the boy's blade swung at the Elven King's leg, severing the limb and sending him to the ground. The boy never hesitated as he swung the sword again, beheading the creature who had brought death to the earth for so many years.

The Elven King's body hit the ground, finally dead.

Then the boy had screamed again, attracting the attention of the other Elven warriors who still fought on the field. And he lifted the sword again and held his ground as they rushed him.

Viktor had blacked out then. He should have died, but through some trick of grace, be it the boy's tourniquet or the heat of the Elven King's blade nearly cauterizing the sump of his arm, Viktor lived long enough for the healers to find him, to carry him off the battle field, and save his life.

Two days later, as Viktor lay on the soft summer grass a mile from the last battle site, the boy had appeared. The blood was washed from his face, but his clothes still held traces of that last battle. He still held Viktor's sword, sheathed in a strip of fabric.

Around them, everyone had gone quiet.

 _I brought back your sword,_ the boy had said. He knelt before Viktor and carefully placed the sword on the ground. When he pulled back the fabric, Viktor could see black patches on the metal from the Elven King's blood.

Elven blood always stained metal. Having a black-patched sword was a mark of honour, for soldiers in the Elven wars.

Viktor used his remaining arm to push himself into a sitting position. He could see the others watching them. His head swam with fatigue and blood loss, but he was of the northern lands, and he knew what he had to do.

 _This is your sword now,_ he had said. With clumsy movements, he pushed his empty scabbard towards the boy. _With it, you slew the Elven King, and saved the world._

The boy had blinked, frowned. _But you..._

 _The northern lands are in your debt,_ Viktor said, then folded himself over in as low a bow as he could manage. Around them, soldiers and healers alike knelt into deep bows. _Elvenslayer._

Whatever the boy would have said was drowned out in the loud cries of _Elvenslayer!_ that rocked the steppe.

Viktor wasn't sure much of what came next, as the fever took him the next day and stole many days away from his memory, but he did remember the boy leaning in to put his hand on Viktor's shoulder. Those eyes like midnight had burned as he stared at Viktor in the cacophony of sound around them.

Viktor still dreamed of those eyes every night.

He wished he had asked the boy's name. All he knew was that the boy wore the herald of the islands at the eastern edge of the world.

A crackle of the fire yanked Viktor back to the present. Prince Yuri was staring at Viktor, obviously still waiting for an answer.

Viktor stretched out his bad leg. "I was there," he said cautiously.

"So you know him," Yuri breathed, his eyes glowing. And why not? Viktor wondered. It was human nature to regard the man who had saved all of humanity with awe. "Do you think... Do you think he would come here? And teach me?"

Viktor was suddenly overwhelmed with anger. The arrogant _hubris_ of this child, thinking that he could demand the presence of the greatest warrior of a generation, to teach him simple swordplay!

It was unthinkable. Even if Viktor knew where to find the Elvenslayer in this time of peace, the boy... no, a man now, Viktor corrected himself. He must have been near Yuri's age when he killed the Elven King, which would make him in his mid-twenties now. Even if Viktor knew where to find the man, such a warrior would never travel halfway across the world on the whim of a spoiled prince.

But maybe it was a way to keep the prince regent from greater harm.

"Fine," Viktor said. "I will attempt the impossible for you, to find the Elvenslayer and ask him very nicely if he would please come to the north to teach you how _not_ to knock your own head off with a sword."

Yuri jumped up on his bed in joy. "Thank you!" he crowed. "Viktor, thank you!"

Viktor shook his head as he braced his walking stick. "It may not happen," he cautioned. "I have no idea where he is, or if he is even still alive. Travelling from the east can take months."

"Send the messenger now," Yuri ordered, jumping to the floor. "It's early spring, and there is no better time to travel back! Send the fastest horses!"

Viktor hauled himself to his feet. "I will not send the fastest horses," he scolded. "I will send the most dependable horses. Get your hat, it is time you go out to face your people."

As Yuri ran across the room, Viktor rubbed his hand over his face. Maybe he could get the head of the King's Guard to recommend someone to tutor Yuri in swordplay in the meantime, and perhaps that might soften the disappointment when the Elvenslayer did not appear.

However, Viktor was a man of his word. For his prince, he would send messages to the ends of the earth to find a man he had never thought to see again.

* * *

_The end of summer_

Viktor rode at a leisurely pace out to the palace horses' grazing meadow. Makkachin trotted at the mare's side, his tongue lolling out in the early autumn heat. The fields were alive with people reaping the harvest, their voices lifted in song and laughter. Ten years before, when the violence and disaster of the Elven Wars had been at their height, famine stalked the land as few dared to venture out to plant their fields.

Now, the world had changed. Not only were the fields full of crops, but so many children ran about, helping with the harvest. There was food enough now to feed the growing kingdom, and the children grew tall and strong.

Viktor called out as he passed to those he knew. Some raised their tools in salute – the prince regent's adviser was well-known in these parts. Many of the men who returned with Viktor from the steppes had settled in this area, and when their hands were raised in greeting, it was to their former general.

The fields grew further apart as the path turned east. There were guard houses here as well as guest lodgings; the main road to the western sea carried along here. Too close to the grazing meadows, Georgi always complained, too tempting to horse thieves. But then, Georgi complained about everything.

Smiling to himself, Viktor urged his horse to a trot. In a few minutes, they were skirting the main guard house and along the fencing to the foaling stables. The dark-haired man sitting on the fence looked up as Viktor slowed the mare. "Come to look at this year's foals for the prince regent?" he called.

"Georgi." Once the horse had stopped, Viktor looped the reins over a hook on the specially built saddle, and held out his hand. Georgi took it and gave it a shake. "You look good, my brother."

Viktor and Georgi, orphans born only one day apart, had been raised as brothers by old Father Yakov on the outskirts of the king's city. They had entered the King's service on the same day, Georgi's easy touch with the horses pulling him into the cavalry force, while Viktor's gift with a sword drew him into the forward lines. Together, they had gone into battle against the forces of the Elven King, and together they had returned home. Only then it had been Viktor on the horse, weak from the fever that followed his injuries on the battlefield.

"And you!" Georgi let go of Viktor's hand to pat the horse affectionately. "Riding this old grandmother. She's almost older than you!"

Viktor ran his hand over the mare's neck. "Hardly. But truly, she's a good horse," he said. "You like the fast horses, but I'd rather have a horse that can get me home safe than get me there fast."

Georgi laughed. "Come, let me show you the foals," he said as he hopped off the fence. "There is one here, born in May and already strong, and a runner." Georgi watched Viktor dismount, a little clumsily. "Perhaps we can train such a horse for the prince regent himself."

Viktor shook his clothes back into order, settled the short sabre without which he never left the palace, even in these times of peace, and planted his walking stick on the ground. "Prince Yuri will of course value your recommendations," Viktor said formally. Georgi hit him in the shoulder. "In truth, Georgi, he still has some growing to do, he may grow too tall for your horse. You remember how tall the princess's husband was."

"You are no short man yourself," Georgi pointed out. "Are you going to bring that wolf of yours?"

Viktor looked down at Makkachin, his curly fur puffed up in the humidity. "Such a wolf," Viktor said mockingly. "Are you worried about the horses?"

"No, the mares are used to the guard dogs. But come, I will show you." Slowly, as Georgi was used to Viktor's gait, they walked to the stables.

Viktor enjoyed a lovely morning watching the foals play while their dams grazed on the late summer grasses. Makkachin sat alert at Viktor's feet, whuffing whenever an adventurous foal took a step in their direction.

Georgi was talking about the growing strength in breeding lines, in more detail that Viktor could follow, when the patter of hooves drew Viktor and Georgi to their feet. One of the king's guards pulled up to the fence, dismounted with alacrity, and hurried towards Viktor. "Sir," he said. "A message has arrived from a guest house not far from here."

"What is the message?" Viktor asked, warily. The man was alert but not tense; it was unlikely to be a warning of danger.

"Sir." The soldier handed over a soft scrap of birchbark. "It is a message from the Elvenslayer."

Viktor stared, startled beyond words. Behind him, Georgi said, "What? Who?"

"The message is from a village priest east of here, along the road to the sea," the soldier said. He handed the message to Viktor. "It is an announcement that the Elvenslayer seeks an audience with the Prince Regent, with a message of peace from the Emperor from the islands of the sun."

Viktor took the birchbark and read it. Indeed, the words did convey such a message in the common language. He flipped the scrap over, and in the bottom corner, in the priest's code Viktor had learned at Yakov's knee, was the message that there were two men, each with a horse, and swords.

"Why is he here?" Georgi demanded. "Why now?"

"I asked him to come," Viktor replied, putting the message into an inner pocket.

"Why?"

"It..." Viktor looked to the sky. "It was at the request of the prince regent."

 _"Why?"_ Georgi asked again.

"It is complicated." He glanced west. The sun was still nearly at its zenith; the guest house must have sent its message early in the day. "There is time. I will go to him."

"The Elvenslayer," Georgi muttered. "Gods above save us. Do you need me?"

Viktor turned to him. "No, my brother." He out his hand on Georgi's shoulder. "Stay with your horses, keep them safe for the prince."

Georgi patted Viktor's hand. "Take care," he cautioned. "There are portents here that would worry any sane man."

Viktor gave Georgi's face a gentle slap. "Luckily for me, I do not believe in portents." He turned away. "I will see you again soon, my brother!"

"Yes, you will!" Georgi's parting shot came after him.

The soldier, who was dogging Viktor's heels closer than Makkachin, said, "Sir, can I assist?"

"You wish to go meet the Elvenslayer?" Viktor asked as he reached his horse. He swiftly stowed his walking stick, took hold of the saddle, and swung himself up.

"Yes," said the soldier. "I was not at the Battle of the Steppes, I have never seen him."

Viktor eyed the man. He was young, hardly more than a boy, but well-trained in the king's service. No surprise he had not been in the battle; he would barely have been ten years old at the time. "Come with me," he said, turning his mare out onto the road. "We will meet this man and decide what happens next."

Viktor was not, by nature, a trusting man. He would go see this man calling himself Elvenslayer. If it was not the man he remembered from so long ago, he would take action. After all, a message could be waylaid on the road, and even though the world was at peace, there were still ambitious men who might try to take advantage of a young prince for their own gain.

And everything Viktor did, he did to protect the north and the prince regent.

The guest house was not far on horseback, and Makkachin kept up easily. On their arrival, a pair of young boys ran out, staring.

"Is there a man from far away here?" Viktor asked the older of the lads as he dismounted.

The boy nodded. "He and his squire sit in the courtyard," the boy said, then said in a whisper, "He has _swords_."

In a land where every child over the age of eight carried some sort of blade, that pronouncement carried weight.

"Good lad," Viktor said, and tossed the lad a coin. "Have someone stay here with our horses, we may wish to leave soon."

Then, with a word to Makkachin to stay close, Viktor limped his way around to the guest house's inner courtyard, the soldier at his back.

The afternoon sun shone warm into the courtyard. A few chickens clucked their away over the dirt ground. A young woman sat in the shade of the wall, spinning flax as she talked to a young man with a shock of red and yellow hair. The young man had his back to Viktor. Was this the man calling himself Elvenslayer? Viktor wondered, his hackles going up. This man was too young, too short, to be the man Viktor knew on the field of battle.

He wondered if he could drop his walking stick and pull his sabre free before the young man noticed.

"General."

Viktor whirled, his hand going from stick to sabre hilt. In another patch of shade at Viktor's back stood a man. He had been so still that Viktor had not seen him on approach, but now he stepped into the light.

Unlike the men of the north, he was clean-shaven, with his hair uncovered. This man's hair was a rich black, tied up in a complicated knot on his head. In spite of the quiet of the guest house, he was armed – a sword strapped to his back, with the hilt sticking up over his right shoulder. There was another sword, too, strapped to his hip in the northern style, and if Viktor looked closely, he would have seen a scabbard as familiar to him as his own hand – his old scabbard.

But Viktor had eyes only for the man's face. There were lines at the corners of his eyes, telling of the years passing, but this was the man who had cradled a dying Viktor on the field of battle, the man who had taken up Viktor's sword and slaughtered the Elven King.

"Elvenslayer," Viktor breathed, feeling as if the ground beneath his feet was made of sand. "You're here."


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Viktor held the gaze of the Elvenslayer, unable to look away. He had been so certain that he would find a fraud that he had no idea how to greet the real man.

Makkachin barked suddenly, cutting across the growing tension. "Makka," Viktor said sharply, curling his hand. "Sit."

The expression on the Elvenslayer's face changed from wariness to a sudden smile. "Your dog?" he asked in the common language. "He is very... fluff?"

"Fluffy," Viktor said automatically. The man's accent on the common words entranced Viktor's ear, and he longed to hear more. "This is Makkachin. He is from near the Rhine, to the south and west. You know the place?"

The man shook his head. "We travelled from the east, along the..." He faltered, then looked over Viktor's shoulder. "Minami!"

The young man, who had been standing by the spinning woman, shook off his stillness and bounded over to the group. "Hello, General!" he said as he bowed to Viktor.

"Minami, what is the name of the road?" The Elvenslayer said something else in a language Viktor was not familiar with.

"The Silk Road!" the young man said in the northern language. "We travel very far," he continued in the same tongue, nearly bursting with pride at his skill.

The Elvenslayer smiled when the young man could not see. "My apprentice picks up many languages on his travels," he said. "But still, he has much to learn."

Admonished, the young man composed his features and stepped back to stand beside his master.

"Elvenslayer—" Viktor started, and was again startled when the man's shoulders went rigid, his eyes flashing.

"Do not—please." His face was going pink. "I do not go by that name, General." He pulled himself up to his full height, meeting Viktor's gaze. "I am Katsuki Yuuri." He bowed to Viktor.

Viktor's heart skipped a beat. Finally, he had a name for the man, and one so similar to the prince regent. "I am no longer a general," Viktor said. "In the north, when the army returns from war, all titles dissolve." He shifted his stance so he was better braced on his faulty leg. "I am now merely Viktor Ivanovich."

"Not merely," Yuuri said, and for some reason went even pinker. "Your heroic feats are well known, across the north and the east."

"That was all a long time ago," Viktor protested. He tapped the ground with his walking stick, and Makkachin bounced up to grasp the thing in his jaws. Then Viktor reached out his left hand to the man who had inhabited his dreams every night for over eight years. "I welcome you to the north, Yuuri."

At the man's side, the young apprentice shifted, some faint disapproval in his expression.

Yuuri, by contrast, stepped forward to grasp Viktor's hand with eager strength. "I bring many messages from the east, but may I say, it is good to see you alive. I thought... Until I received your message, I worried you had been long dead, all these years."

Viktor squeezed Yuuri's palm. He couldn't help smiling. "I would have been, but for you, so many times over."

"Sir?"

Viktor turned to see an older man, probably the keeper of the guest house, hovering nervously in the courtyard doorway. "Good sir!" Viktor returned heartily. "May my friends and I sit and take refreshment in your fine house?"

The older man visibly relaxed. "Come inside, and I will bring cider." He turned back into the house.

 "Will you sit for a drink with us?" Viktor asked, returning to the common language. "We can talk about what we do next."

Yuuri nodded. Viktor retrieved his walking stick from Makkachin and led the way inside. Yuuri and the young apprentice were behind him. Even though Viktor had said nothing to the soldier, the man stationed himself at a slight distance once inside, between the group and the door.

Viktor settled on a bench, always an exercise in awkwardness with his stiff leg, and waited for Yuuri to do the same. The apprentice sat just behind his master.

"Yuuri—" Viktor began, but stopped when he saw that same expression of disapproval on the apprentice's face. "Ah, I say something wrong."

Yuuri cast a quelling look over his shoulder. "A misunderstanding," he said. "Katsuki is the name of my family. Yuuri is the name I was given."

"Ah!" Viktor slapped the table. "And here, Viktor is the name I was given! Ivanovich is how we say, son of Ivan!"

Yuuri had a faint smile hovering on his lips. "How should I call you, so your guards do not look at me crossly?"

"Viktor Ivanovich," Viktor declared. "And you? So your apprentice does not look at me so?"

The young man looked down, but Yuuri's lips only twitched. "Most call me Katsuki. You can call me Yuuri."

Viktor could see the apprentice roll his eyes to the side to stare at Yuuri, but he decided to ignore it. "Ah, Yuuri!"

Their host brought in several mugs, distributing them around. Yuuri waited until the man had stepped away to say, "You are saying it wrong."

Viktor paused with his mug of cider in the air. "Wrong?" he repeated.

Yuuri moved his mug aside on the table. "You said it, in the back of your mouth. Yuri." When he pronounced the word, it was indeed the same as the name of the prince regent. "For me, say it in the front of your mouth." He tapped his lower lip. "Yuuu-ri."

"Yuuri. Yuuri," Viktor tried a few times. He could hear the difference, even if it felt strange to say the word in such a way. "Yuu-ri."

"Very good, Viktor Ivanovich," Yuuri said, and picked up his mug.

Viktor held his mug up in a toast. "You cannot ask me to call you Yuuri and then not call me Viktor!"

Yuuri sipped his cider. "Viktor." His eyes danced over the mug, and Viktor was suddenly struck that there were shades of brown and red in Yuuri's midnight-dark eyes.

Makkachin whined and poked his head in the crook of Viktor's arm. "No, no treats for you," Viktor scowled. "Sit."

"He is a good dog," Yuuri said, watching Makkachin. "Does he hunt?"

"Many years ago. Now, he is a lazy old mutt." Viktor rubbed the top of Makkachin's head. "Since I was seventeen, he is my dog. When I came back, after the War was over, he makes sure I am all right as I hobble about."

"Good." Yuuri watched Makkachin settle with his head on Viktor's good leg, then he cleared his throat. "Viktor, why did you send for me?"

Viktor was conscious of many listening ears, both inside the room and out, but as he knew that with so many rumours flying around the countryside in regards to the prince regent, he had no worries about sharing the truth with Yuuri.

Well. Most of the truth.

"Our prince regent, Prince Yuri, he is a man of sixteen," Viktor said formally. "He is much interested in the art of swordsmanship, and he asked if you could be the one to share your knowledge."

It was the wrong thing to say. For a long moment, there was silence. Yuuri did not move a muscle. Then he said, voice flat, "He wants to learn from the Elvenslayer."

"Yes." Viktor put his hand on his damaged leg, pressing on the old scar. "Many must have asked you before now."

"Many have asked. I have not said yes."

Puzzled, Viktor glanced at the apprentice. Yuuri caught this.

"Minami did not ask." Some of the warmth was coming back into Yuuri's expression. "He arrived one day and refused to leave. I told him, go away, leave me alone, but every time, he stays. And now," Yuuri said in resignation. "He is my apprentice, and I am obliged to look to his safety."

Minami glared at the back of Yuuri's head.

"So, why should I say yes to your prince?" Yuuri continued. "I agreed to carry messages of peace from my emperor, but I am not looking for a new pupil."

"I understand." Viktor tapped his fingers against his lips, an old nervous gesture. "I cannot speak for the prince regent, but I will say that you will be welcome at the palace for as long as you wish to stay."

Yuuri's eyebrow quirked. "And how long should that be?" he asked delicately.

"At least a seven-day," Viktor replied. "The harvest celebration is in a handful of days, and you would do us great honour if you were in attendance."

Yuuri looked at Viktor for a long moment. "I will stay," he finally said. "Because you ask."

Viktor grinned. "Let us drink, then we will be off!"

More cider was consumed, then the young apprentice Minami gathered their belongings. Yuuri helped as much as Minami would let him. In spite of their long journey, they had only two horses, with packed saddlebags on the animals. Minami soon had their horses ready to go. While Yuuri thanked their hosts and handed over a few coins, the soldier sidled up to Viktor's side.

"Should I go ahead to the palace?" he asked in their language.

Viktor considered it, then shook his head. "No, let us be a surprise," he said. He could just imagine Yakov's expression. Then he caught the look on the soldier's face. "There are only two of them. At this time of day, the full contingent of the King's Guard will be on shift. There is no danger."

The soldier nodded, accepting the orders of the prince regent's adviser. Viktor wondered if the shine was coming off the myth of the Elvenslayer for the soldier, after being in his company. Not so for Viktor, who had spent so much time over the years thinking of the Elvenslayer. To find him such an open and down-to-earth young man was a delight. Viktor knew too many warriors who had let success on the battle field go to their heads.

Yuuri was... refreshing.

Too, the care he took with his apprentice set Viktor at ease. It would have been easy for any man to pile much on the shoulders of a young and willing helper, but Yuuri insisted on taking his share. If anything, Minami was more adamant that he do the work, not his master.

Yuuri came over to the group. "We should go," he said. "Viktor, how far to your palace?"

"An hour's easy ride," Viktor said. He stowed his walking stick in his saddle. "And it is not my palace. If anything, I serve only at the prince regent's command."

"But you live there?" Yuuri pressed.

"Yes, I do." Viktor did not know how Yuuri's people regarded those who owned no land, but Viktor was only an old soldier who spent his days advising a brattish prince. What lands he had been given after the Elven Wars as compensation for his arm and leg, he had gifted to Georgi and his growing family. No doubt Yuuri, as the warrior who had saved all humankind, would have many lands and much wealth in the east.

Yet all Yuuri said was, "Good."

Viktor swung himself up into his saddle, settling his bad leg into the stirrup. "Let us be off!"

The King's Guard also mounted. Yuuri went to take his horse's reins, but for some reason the beast snorted and danced to the side a few steps.

Yuuri muttered under his breath as he went after the horse. It took him a few tries to mount, and even then it was not a graceful motion. Yuuri sat in the saddle as if he expected to be thrown off at any moment. Viktor wondered if that was the style of the east, but Minami's easy mount dissuaded him of that opinion.

Yuuri 's face had gone red. "I do not often ride," he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. "There is nothing wrong with walking."

"Of course!" Viktor said. "I like to walk. Even with this," and he slapped his bad leg. "The hills of the north, there is such beauty. I will show you the hills in autumn, and you will see."

They set off, Viktor and Yuuri riding side by side. Makkachin trotted along on Viktor's outside flank, occasionally running off to investigate. Behind them, Viktor heard Minami and the King's Guard talking in halting common.

"When did you receive my message?" Viktor asked after a few minutes of quiet from Yuuri.

"Three months ago," Yuuri said. "The message came quickly to the royal court, and then I was summoned."

"Do you live at the court?" Viktor asked, curious about every detail of Yuuri's life.

"No. The royal compound is on the main island. I live to the south." Yuuri sketched the air. "Hasetsu, that is where I live." A faint smile crossed his lips. "I grew up there. But then, for many years I was away in the War. Coming home was..." His hand grasped at the air, like plucking a cherry from a low branch. "It was not the same as when I was a child." He let his hand drop. "But it is a good, rich land. We have a sheltered bay off the ocean for fishing, and the soil is very fertile. In peace time, even the poor eat well."

"Good," Viktor said. "The lands here are not as rich for farming, but we have orchards and there is good hunting. But we are not close to the ocean. I hope you like salted fish."

"After five years of eating the scraps from the army campfires, I like everything."

"After..." Viktor threw Yuuri a sharp look. "How long were you with the eastern army?"

"Five years." Yuuri was still staring straight ahead. "I do not know how it was here when the Elven armies came, but in the east, there was much destruction and famine. They conscripted many. My father was old, but my sister is seven years older than me and willing to fight." Yuuri's grasp tightened on his reins. "After she left, I ran away to go after her, but I didn't know which regiment she was with. And a young boy, running wild in the countryside..." He twitched a shoulder. "A regiment of foot soldiers scooped me up and took me along as a mascot. They let me have enough to eat if I did camp chores and cleaned their armour and did a bit of hunting along the way. I got very good at hunting rabbits."

"That must have been..." Viktor did not know what to say. When he was young and training to fight, he was at least in the company of people he knew.

"It was war." Yuuri's free hand traced the hilt of Viktor's old sword. "Some of the soldiers taught me to use a sword, how to fight. Sometimes we would meet other warriors, and I would see them fight. I learned a few things. I liked to think I was helping."

"You did," Viktor said quietly. "You saved everyone when you slew the Elven King."

Yuuri took in a sharp breath, but let it out without speaking. Viktor wondered what he was about to say, and what, after all he had said, he thought best to keep back.

Viktor wondered many things about this man.

The road wove down to the west, along the fields Viktor had passed earlier. With hours more sunlight in the day, the harvesters were still hard at work. A few of the children ran to the road to stare at the men with their strange clothes and uncovered hair, and a few of the adults paused to look at Yuuri himself. In a land where men grew beards and covered their hair out of doors, Yuuri was a novel sight. Even if he had not been a man of much beauty, many would stare.

But it was not until they passed the ancient pines by the crossroads did anyone recognize Yuuri himself.

In the fields beyond the grove, a man Viktor knew from the Elven Wars had paused to sharpen his scythe. He glanced over at the travelers' passing, and his gaze focused on Yuuri. He was on his feet in a moment.

"Viktor Ivanovich!" he called in the northern tongue. Viktor pulled his horse to a halt. "Viktor Ivanovich, what is this you bring?"

"A man who is here at the request of Prince Yuri," Viktor replied in kind. "He brings peaceful tidings from the east."

The man did not look assuaged. "Is that him? Is that the Elvenslayer?"

Yuuri urged his mount up beside Viktor's. "What's he saying?" Yuuri asked in the common tongue.

"He wants to know if you are the Elvenslayer," Viktor said.

"Oh." Yuuri's hands gripped his reins so tight, his knuckles turned white.

"You have to expect this to happen," Viktor told him. "You saved everyone."

"Stop saying that," Yuuri said in a savage undertone. "I only..." He broke off. The man was approaching them, having laid down his scythe. "Hello," Yuuri called. "I am Katsuki Yuuri."

"The Elvenslayer," Viktor added, so there would be no confusion.

The man's face was a mix of emotions as he reached up a hand to Yuuri. Yuuri took it, obviously at a loss. "Thank you," said the man in the common tongue. " _Thank you_."

"Father?" called an older boy, hurrying across the field. He had a gaggle of smaller children at his heels.

The man reluctantly let go of Yuuri's hand. "Children, look sharp," he said in the northern tongue. "This is the Elvenslayer, come to bear tidings to the Prince Regent."

The children gaped in astonishment. Like all northern children they had been raised on stories of the Elven Wars and of the heroes who had battled ferociously to rid the land of the Elven scourge. Viktor was not surprised that they were dumbstruck in the presence of the man.

"We have to get to the palace," Viktor said, turning his horse to the side.

"Of course, of course." The man pulled his children back. "Welcome to the north."

"Thank you," Yuuri said. He let Viktor set them on the road again, looking uneasy. "Does everyone know who I am?"

"Of course they do," Viktor said, pretending not to notice as the older boy sprinted past them, shouting to others in the farther fields. "You saved the whole world."

Yuuri looked to the sky. "I came all this way and no one knew that name for me."

"Unless you plan to turn around and ride east, that is over." Ahead of them, harvesters were approaching the road, called in by the shouts of the farmer's boy. "Yuuri, you did something no one else could do. Kings and princes tried, and they were all cut down."

Yuuri said something under his breath in his own language.

"People need heroes," Viktor finished.

"They have you," Yuuri said, and for some reason he sounded confused.

The crowd was upon them then, and it took all of Viktor's energies to handle the questions. There was no time to wonder about what Yuuri meant.

* * *

The final mile to the palace was a very different ride than Viktor had anticipated. Word had reached the King's Guard, and soldiers lined both sides of the road. Members of the royal court stood curiously in windows and along the palace courtyard. Everyone was cheering.

Viktor spared a glance up at the windows of the prince regent's rooms. There was no sign of Prince Yuri, but Viktor doubted that he would not know of the arrival of his guest.

In a flash of austere black, Viktor spotted Yakov in a doorway, scowling at Viktor. Viktor didn't know what he could have done now; it wasn't as if he had any foreknowledge of Yuuri's arrival.

In a fanfare, Viktor pulled them up to the front steps of the palace. As castles went, this one was not large, but it was well-fortified. It had been built in the early days of the King's reign before the threat of the Elven armies savaged the lands. In the years since the King's infirmity, the royal advisers had focused more on defences than aesthetics.

"We are here!" Viktor declared, swinging down to the cobblestones. Giving the old mare a fond pat, he let a groom take the reins. "Come, Yuuri, let me take you inside."

Yuuri managed to get off his horse without falling, to find Minami already dismounted and taking the horse's bridle. "The horses..." Yuuri said.

"I will watch!" Minami said.

"No," Yuuri said with unexpected firmness. "You stay with me." He said something else in his own language. Minami pursed his lips, but bowed his head before going to unbuckle the saddlebags from the two horses.

"Sir," said the soldier at Viktor's side. "I am assigned to one of the guard houses along the road."

"Oh?" Viktor looked the young man over. "Do you yearn to return to your post?"

The young man's face went rigid. "Katsuki and Minami will need a guide in this place."

Viktor held in a smile. "And they would be more comfortable with a soldier than a courtier?" he hazarded. If anything, the young man's face went more still. "You are right, it is a good suggestion." He set his stick to the cobblestone and walked the few yards to where Yuuri stood enduring the blatant stares of the nobles. "Yuuri!"

Yuuri spun around, all his attention on Viktor. "Yes?"

"I have a guide for you in the palace!" He tilted his head to indicate the guard. "He knows much about the countryside."

"Oh." Yuuri looked at the man. "You are a warrior?"

"A member of the King's Guard, sir." The young man bowed stiffly. "I come from Almaty, to the south, but I serve the northern prince regent."

"We rode through Almaty on our travels," Yuuri said. "What is your name?"

"Otabek Altin."

"Minami," Yuuri called. The apprentice was at his side in a moment. "Do you have everything?"

The young apprentice held one bulging saddlebag over his shoulder, while the others were carried by the palace servants. "Yes!"

"Then inside!" Viktor headed towards the wide stone steps. Climbing the steps with his bad leg took a bit of concentration, but then they were inside the entrance hall.

The palace steward hurried towards them. "Sir," he said in the northern tongue, "Shall we prepare the guest quarters?"

The large guest quarters were on the eastern side of the palace, as distant as possible from the royal quarters on the western side. Viktor shook his head. "There are empty rooms down the hall from mine, with a view out onto the gardens," he said.

The steward winced. "Sir, those are not our best rooms," he cautioned.

Viktor came to a complete stop, causing a ripple of interrupted motion down the hallway. "The empty rooms down the hall from mine," he repeated himself. The steward straightened his spine, but did not back away. "And start a fire to heat hot water, our guests have traveled far."

"It will take us some small time to ready those rooms," the steward said stiffly. "Where shall you entertain our guests until then?"

"My quarters," Viktor said. "If Yakov wishes to find me, I will be there."

The steward hurried off.

Viktor began walking again, only to find Yuuri looking at him. "What is it?"

"What was that about?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor related the substance of the conversation, if not the words. Yuuri still stared at him curiously. "Was I wrong?" Viktor asked, feeling unaccountably flustered. "I can call the steward back."

"No," Yuuri said. "I would not wish the extravagance of the guest rooms. If you think these rooms are the best for me, then they will be."

Makkachin, who had caught the scent of home, barked and ran on ahead.

Viktor guided Yuuri, Minami and Altin up more stairs and down corridors. Out the windows, the gardens glowed green in the light from the sinking sun, and the mountains in the distance reflected orange off the high snow.

Yuuri slowed to look outside. "All this land belongs to the prince?" he asked.

"The king," Viktor said. "Have you not heard the tales of the northern king?"

"Much long illness," Minami pipped up.

"We had heard that he is not able to rule," Yuuri said. "That your prince instead sits on the throne."

"Prince regent," Altin said. Everyone turned to look at him. "Prince Yuri is prince regent, not prince."

Yuuri bowed his head. "An important fact," he said. "I worry that your court will find my manners... not what they are used to."

"Just as you are not used to us," Viktor rejoined. "This is not a battlefield, no duels will break out over greetings."

Yuuri bowed his head again. "Then in that, your court is very different than mine," he said, and walked on.

When they reached Viktor's rooms, Makkachin lay sprawled out in front of the fire, relishing his well-earned rest. One of the servants had left a kettle of water to heat by the fire.

"Ah, come in!" Viktor encouraged, standing out of the way to let Yuuri and Minami enter. Altin took up his post by the door. "Soon your room will be ready, and then you can rest."

"When may we see your prince regent?" Yuuri asked, taking the saddlebag from Minami. He placed it with care on Viktor's large desk by the window. "I wish to convey the greetings of my emperor."

"We will make sure of a time," Viktor said, unbelting the sabre from his waist. He hooked it onto the wall in its usual spot, then lowered himself onto his chair by the fire. "As a formal visit, it may need some preparation."

Yuuri sighed. "I should have written ahead, but..." He shook his head. "Statecraft is not my strength."

"What is?" Viktor asked as he unfastened his cloak. "What do you do, besides shepherd eager apprentices?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I watch other people do things," he said. His nimble fingers had removed his outer cloak and were untying straps across his chest. "Sometimes I practice fighting. Sometimes I listen to people tell me their problems."

Minami, unable to keep quiet, burst out, "Katsuki is a magistrate, many cities! Many defer to his..." The boy broke off, and said something to Yuuri. Yuuri put his hand over his face and said nothing. "His thinking," Minami finished, tapping his temple with one finger.

At Viktor's questioning look, Yuuri reluctantly explained. "I live in a remote area. They needed someone to preside over the local court. I was only appointed because they didn't have anyone else." With the straps unfastened, Yuuri removed the sword from his back. He set it on the desk beside the saddlebag.

"Maybe tomorrow you can show me your weaponry?" Viktor asked. He slid his cloak off his shoulders; sitting this close to the fire always made him overheat. "I would very much like to see what a warrior of the east carries."

"Of course." Yuuri had stopped, his hand on his sword belt, staring at Viktor's right side. Viktor looked down, wondering what had caught the man's attention, but it was only what remained of his arm, tastefully swathed in a tailored sleeve.

Viktor, who had never backed down from anything, said, "It does make me lopsided." He gestured with the remains of the arm. "But some very brave man saved me from bleeding to death when it was chopped off, and I am glad to have it."

Yuuri met his eyes, and Viktor was surprised to see strong emotion there. "The world is glad to have you," Yuuri said.

Before Viktor could figure out a way to respond, Yakov burst into the room. His mouth was already open to start yelling, then he saw Yuuri and pulled up short.

"Vitya," Yakov said in what passed as a tame voice, "You bring surprises." He used the common language, which at least made Viktor's life a bit easier.

"Yes, surprises!" He gestured to Yuuri. "Look who it is!"

Yakov's glare could have melted glaciers. "You honour us with your presence," Yakov said to Yuuri. "The prince regent, and our people."

"Father Yakov is the prince regent's spiritual adviser," Viktor said cheerfully. He got up to shuffle over to stand between the two. "Father Yakov, this is Katsuki Yuuri." He was careful to pronounce Yuuri's name correctly. "He has come with messages of peace from the east!"

"And to teach the young prince?" Yakov asked.

Before Viktor could demur, Yuuri said, "Is it possible to know if you can teach someone without having met them?" The deference he had shown with Viktor was now gone, and a very confident man stood facing Yakov. "I am honored to bring messages from my emperor to your prince regent, and to share my deep regards with Viktor Ivanovich after all these years." He turned and bowed towards Viktor. "I can promise no more than that."

Yakov regarded Yuuri with a cool expression. "The prince regent has heard of your arrival," he finally said. "He wishes you to dine with him this evening."

"Where?" Viktor asked.

"In the gallery. Any official tidings you have, you can share tomorrow before the full court. They are gathered for the harvest feasts. You came at an opportune time."

A few final words were said, and Yakov surged out of the room in a sweep of his habit. Viktor sighed. "Altin, go see how the rooms are coming along," he suggested. "Minami, go with him so you can see."

Altin jumped into action, followed by Minami after a nod from Yuuri.

"Yakov is a lot to take in," Viktor said. "But his interests are for the prince regent."

"I understand." Yuuri rubbed his eyes. "It has been a long day. Minami and I have been riding since dawn."

"But you are here now," Viktor said. "Come, have a drink."

As he shuffled past Yuuri, the man reached out to touch his wrist. A zing went through Viktor, freezing him in place. He hadn't realized how close he was to this beautiful man, and how very alone they were.

"Viktor," Yuuri said quietly. His eyes were on Viktor's face, searching. "Why did you ask me to come here?"

Viktor swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He swore he could feel his own heartbeat in the place Yuuri's fingers rested on his arm. "The prince regent asked me to ask you to teach him swordplay."

"Viktor." There was a stubborn edge to Yuuri's jaw, in how he looked up into Viktor's eyes. Viktor's knees felt weak. "Why did _you_ ," and there was heavy emphasis on the word. "Ask _me_ to come here?"

Viktor didn't know what to say. He had no answer other than the one had already given the man, and to say he had dreamed of Yuuri every night since the Battle of the Steppes was too private a thing to ever be given to voice.

"Yuuri..."

The sound of footsteps and voices neared. Yuuri stepped back, putting a room of distance between them by the time Minami pushed open the door. "Katsuki," Minami said as he entered. "The rooms are ready!" He said more in his own tongue, to which Yuuri nodded. Gathering up the saddlebags and Yuuri's discarded sword, Minami left again.

Yuuri turned to follow. "Dinner this evening," he said from the doorway. "What must I know?"

Viktor blinked himself back to life. "Not as formal as court tomorrow, but if you have anything beside your travel clothes, wear those."

"What of weapons?"

Viktor broke into a wide, somewhat mischievous smile. "I don't think anyone would be satisfied to see the great Katsuki Elvenslayer without his sword, do you?"

Yuuri's eyes narrowed. "The stories about you never said how much of a trickster you are," he said, and vanished.

"Wait!" Viktor called out to the empty air. "What stories about me?"

But Yuuri was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Alone in the privacy of his own room, Viktor stripped out of his dusty riding clothes and bathed quickly. In respect of the evening's guests, he put on a robe with elaborate silver embroidery on the blue wool, one that he knew would stand out in the candlelight of the dining table.

As he combed his hair, Viktor reflected that any meal with the prince regent was never easy. The gallery was designed to impress and intimidate, with rich tapestries and extravagant paintings lining the walls. Dinner in that room was reserved for a handful of choice guests, along with the requisite contingent of servants and guards to show off the wealth of the north.

Makkachin, having had his own dinner, sat at Viktor's feet and watched him get ready. "Makkachin, how do you think I look?" Viktor asked.

Makkachin cocked his head and panted.

"That is what I thought you would say." Viktor sat down. "I hope Yuuri is settling in," he mused as he pulled on his leather boots. "What did he mean, Makka, when he said he heard stories about me? Who was telling stories?"

Makkachin, having grown bored with Viktor, wandered back to his blanket by the fireplace.

Viktor stood. His clothes were perfect and his boots snug. All that remained was to put on his sword.

Going over to the wall, Viktor surveyed his array of sabres. The functional one he wore during the day was balanced for a one-handed man, but a dinner with the prince regent usually demanded a more decorative sword.

His hand closed over a scabbard lined with copper, then he hesitated. The prince regent and the courtiers would favour decoration, but what would an expert warrior like the Elvenslayer expect? Viktor had no doubt that anything Yuuri carried would be functional first, decorative second.

A rap on the door shook Viktor out of his indecision. "Enter," he called as he plucked his blue-hilted sabre off the wall. It was less decorative, but the blade was well-balanced and a good length.

The door creaked open to admit Minami. He had changed his clothes and was now wearing long robes of a light material, belted at the waist. "Sir," he said, and bowed. "Katsuki waits for you."

A flutter in Viktor's chest at the idea of Yuuri waiting for _him_. "Let us go!" Viktor said cheerily. He tucked the scabbard under his right arm stump, slung his sword belt over his shoulder, and grabbed his decorated walking stick as he went after the young man.

Minami sped down the hall, Viktor hobbling along in his wake. "How do you like the rooms?" Viktor asked as Minami pulled up to the door.

"Good," Minami said. "Warm."

"Excellent," Viktor beamed. He went inside at Minami's gesture. The room, not usually occupied, had been hastily stocked with bedding and furs. The fire crackled merrily. "Yuuri?" Viktor called.

The man stepped away from the window and into the light. Viktor couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. Yuuri was such a striking man, from the intensity of his gaze to the firm line of his jaw. He was so different from the people Viktor saw every day in the north, yet the way he looked at Viktor was so familiar that Viktor was instantly at ease.

"Yuuri!" Viktor said. "You will shine the brightest in the room!"

Yuuri's cheeks went pink. "Viktor, you should not say such things," he scolded. He moved forward. "Am I properly attired for a dinner with the prince regent?"

Viktor drank in the sight of Yuuri. His dark green robe hung well over a pair of baggy white trousers, with Viktor's old sword belted to his waist in a proud display. Yuuri looked sleek and formidable, and Viktor told him so.

Yuuri made a face. "You cannot call me that," he said, although he was smiling. "Formidable?"

"No one in the room will deserve the title more. Is that silk you wear?"

"Yes. Silk is light and travels well."

"And very nice to touch," Viktor said with a wink. He leaned his walking stick against a chair. "Where is your guide?"

"Altin was summoned away by another guard," Yuuri said. "He said something about a uniform for dinner."

Viktor clucked his tongue. "The court does have expectations about those placed before the prince regent."

Minami said something to Yuuri, who replied at length. Viktor concentrated on arranging his outer belt around his waist, then securing his sword. He tested the hilt, drawing the sabre out of the scabbard, then settled it back and waited for Yuuri to be finished talking to Minami.

Yuuri said a few more words, waited for Minami to nod, then turned to Viktor. "Your Father Yakov said that I can share the greetings of my emperor tomorrow, but I also have brought a gift for the prince regent. Should I give that to him tomorrow as well?"

"Is it a weapon?" Viktor asked, resuming his walking stick.

"No. It is... Not a toy, but a small statue."

Viktor considered. "Better tonight, with the smaller group," he suggested. "If the prince regent wishes to share it with the court, he can do so tomorrow."

With a glance from Yuuri, Minami hopped into action. While the young man was occupied, Yuuri drifted closer to Viktor. "You are not wearing a cloak," Yuuri observed in a quiet voice. "You show both arms."

"Yes," Viktor agreed. "Scars from battle with the Elven King are very honorable in the north. There will be people tonight who I wish to remind of that time."

Yuuri's eyes travelled down Viktor's body. "Your outfit, it is very..." He said a word Viktor did not know. "I like it."

The corner of Viktor's mouth twitched up. "I am glad."

The door opened, and a freshly scrubbed young soldier slipped inside. Someone had put Otabek Altin into a clean formal uniform for the dinner, and brushed the dust off his boots, but he would look out of place in a royal gathering. Still. Only time would set Altin to his ease in the palace.

"Presentable for the royal table," Viktor said, and Altin snapped to attention.

"Sir."

"Well, come, let us go!" Viktor said. "We dine, and then we talk, and only one of those should give us all indigestion."

Altin's expression was disapproving, but Yuuri just sighed. "Politics are politics everywhere," he said.

"Unfortunately."

Minami returned, holding a package about the length and shape of his forearm. "Gift is ready!"

"Thank you," Yuuri said. "Please, carry it to give to the prince regent."

Minami stood tall under this responsibility.

They left the room in a group, Altin leading the way, Minami close behind him. Yuuri and Viktor walked behind, which gave Viktor the opportunity to watch Yuuri look around the palace.

"How do you see us?" Viktor asked when Minami was far enough ahead of them not to overhear. "Are we hopelessly barbaric in the north?"

"No," Yuuri said, his voice serious as if Viktor had asked a real question. "I have seen bigger castles, with brighter paintings. But in all the travel I have done, I think, the larger the castle and the richer the king, the poorer the people." He looked sideways at Viktor. "The people I have seen in the north, they do not look poor."

"Some might see that as weakness in a ruler," Viktor said in a low voice. The conversation had taken a suddenly dangerous turn, and he did not want anyone to overhear them.

"If the way a man rules makes his people weak, that is how he is weak." Yuuri was looking at him straight on now. "The north is far from the lands of the east, and there was much to see on the roads I have travelled."

Viktor stopped walking. "Is there something you want to say to me before we go before the prince regent?"

Yuuri looked around the hall. Outside, the sun was setting, sending golden rays through the palace's small windows. "No," he said after a minute. "I am hungry and that makes me stupid. Sometimes I play at philosophy, but I am only a man with little learning and less sense."

Viktor's hand tightened on his walking stick. "I doubt that a man with little sense would be sent as a peaceful envoy halfway across the world."

Yuuri shook his head. "Maybe only a man with little sense could believe in peace."

"And are you?" Viktor asked sharply.

"I already told you." Yuuri's eyes were deep pools. "I am a man of little learning and extremely little sense."

A cough sounded down the hall. "We will be late," called Altin.

"We cannot keep a prince regent waiting," Yuuri said very quietly to Viktor, and walked on.

After a moment, Viktor followed.

The gallery was already lit with a hundred candles, the sweet beeswax scent almost overpowering. The prince regent was not yet in attendance, but the hall was not empty. When Viktor saw who else had been invited to the dinner, he almost turned around and went back to his room.

Girding himself, Viktor marched forward.

"Dmitry Orlovich."

The man, a distant cousin to the Invalid King, close to Viktor's age, glared in distaste. "Viktor Ivanovich, you do many shocking things, but this might be the most outlandish," he said in the northern language. "You send for the Elvenslayer to put before our prince regent?"

"At the prince regent's request," Viktor shot back coldly. He looked at the other man in the room. "And what do you say, General?"

General Petr Morozevich, head of the King's Guard, looked over Yuuri like he was a piece of prized horseflesh. "He cannot be as young as he looks."

"No," Viktor replied.

"And you steal away one of my soldiers for him?" Now Morozevich was looking at Altin. The young man was rigid under the scrutiny. "If you wanted to show off our military strength, why such a young soldier from so far south?"

Viktor could feel a headache starting to form behind his left eye. "There is always a value in using the resources available to you at the time," he said bluntly. Taking two steps back, he switched to the common language to say, "I introduce to you, Katsuki Yuuri, Elvenslayer and Peaceful Envoy from the East."

Yuuri bowed his head a fraction of an inch at the men.

"Dmitry Orlovich, courtier. And General Petr Morozevich, the head of our distinguished King's Guard."

"And me?" floated in a new voice. A young woman came into view. Viktor almost didn't recognize her, in a dark gown decorated with gold embroidery and a fine linen headscarf. Usually Viktor saw her in the same uniform as the other archers of the King's Guard, dusty and on horseback and cursing up a storm.

"Mila Babicheva!" Viktor said in delight. He held out his hand to her and she took it. No doubt she had already had a trying evening with these two men. "What a delight."

Still holding Viktor's hand, Mila bent her knee and bowed her head at Yuuri. "I am honoured to greet our guest, on behalf of my father."

"Mila's father is a cousin of the prince regent's late father," Viktor said, guiding Mila forward. "She is of the King's Guard, and our best archer."

Yuuri gave Mila a deeper bow than he had given the men. "My apprentice, Minami Kenjirou, is gifted with the eastern short bow," he said, and pulled the younger man up. Minami grinned at Mila. "I would like to see your skill."

"We will take part in the harvest feast," Mila said with a dazzling smile. "You will stay to see us?"

"If that is how events unfold," Yuuri said.

The door at the far end of the gallery opened. The prince regent's personal guard preceded him and Yakov into the room. Prince Yuri wore a deep burgundy wool tunic, not his formal court wear, nor the most ornate outfit he owned, but one of tasteful richness. Viktor suspected that Yakov had for once held sway over the prince regent's clothing choices.

"Prince Regent Yuri Nikolayevich!" announced the herald, as Yuri made a bee-line for Yuuri. The young man stopped dead in front of Yuuri, gazing at him intently.

"I greet you," Yuuri said formally in the northern tongue, then, switching back to common, "You have beautiful land with strong people, Prince Regent."

For a moment, Yuri was flummoxed. Then he rallied, saying, "You're really the Elvenslayer?"

Viktor winced at the crassness of the question. He really must have someone work with Yuri on his use of _tact_. "He is," Viktor said warningly. "He is Katsuki Yuuri."

Yuri's eyes nearly fell out of his head. "Your father's name is also Yuri?"

"No," Yuuri said. "Katsuki is the name of my family. Yuuri is my personal name. I was pleased to find that we share that name, prince regent."

Yuuri gestured for Minami to come forward. The young man held out the silk-wrapped package to the prince regent.

"A small token of my thanks for your hospitality," Yuuri said.

Yuri took the gift and stared at it, his glee barely hidden. "Can I open it now?" he asked, looking between Viktor and Yuuri.

Yuuri bowed. "Please."

Yuri carried the package over to the table. Mila joined him, while the others stayed where they were. Dmitry Orlovich was nearly vibrating with sour disapproval, which perversely pleased Viktor. He had never liked the man.

The prince regent carefully untied the golden cords from the bundle. The red silk covering came off in a long length, and Mila picked it up to watch the thin fabric sway in the air.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"Much like yourself," Yuuri said.

Viktor, who was standing at just the right angle, saw Minami roll his eyes at his master's back.

In the meantime, Yuri had peeled away the soft padding to reveal an enameled animal sculpture. Orange and black stripes covered the creature, with gold inlay and little green gems for the eyes.

"A tiger," Yuri breathed reverently.

"It moves," Yuuri said. He stepped forward and carefully guided the prince regent's hand to touch the tiger's left hind leg. "Move the leg, and the mouth opens."

He demonstrated, and the little tiger's mouth opened to reveal a glittering snarl.

Yakov coughed. "Your highness."

Yuri patted the tiger's sleek back. "I thank you for your gift," he said, the words an automatic recitation. "It is beautiful."

"We should sit for dinner," Yakov said. "And our guest can share the tale of his journey."

Yuri had one of the servants place the tiger in the centre of the table. In contrast to the normal banquet-style feast held by the court, this meal was to take place around an oval table, with stools for each guest. Yuri himself had an elaborate chair at the head of the table. He was quick to suggest that Yuuri sit at his left hand.

Viktor had just sat down on Yuuri's other side when General Morozevich's voice cut across the room. "Does a mere apprentice suppose to break bread at the same table as a prince?"

Viktor looked down the table. Minami had been about to sit in the spot across from Mila, but now he jumped up and back, his attention fixed on the large general.

"He is my apprentice," said Yuuri. Quiet anger lay coiled in the man's soft words as he rose to his feet. He was the same height as Morozevich, but the old man was bulky and slow, compared to Yuuri's slender strength and grace. "He goes with me, and so I go with him."

"There is no place for an apprentice at the prince regent's table," Morozevich insisted.

Yuuri's eyes glittered in the candlelight as he stared Morozevich down. "Then my place," he said deliberately, "Is not here either."

"They have my hospitality," Yuri's words sliced through the growing tension. "The Elvenslayer, and his apprentice. Both are welcome at my table."

Morozevich glared at Yuuri, then with a visible effort he moved his attention to the prince regent. "Of course, your highness," he said. "If I have overstepped my bounds, forgive me."

"Perhaps," Yuuri said, "If I may be so bold, Prince Regent?"

"Yes?" Yuri asked. Viktor heard Yakov groan under his breath.

"There is a young soldier who is responsible for being our guide while we are in your city." Yuuri beckoned at Altin to come forward. The young man did so, his stoic face almost masking the sudden terror in his eyes. "I would not like my apprentice to distract any of your other guests. Perhaps they could sit together at your table."

Viktor bit back a laugh. And Yuuri had called Viktor a trickster?

Yuri shrugged. "If you wish," he said. Altin walked to the end of the table and stood awkwardly. "Mila, do you object?"

"I could never object to dining with someone as good with a sword as Otabek Altin," she called to her cousin.

Before that, Yuri had barely spared the young soldier a glance. After Mila's pronouncement, his attention focused on the young man. Viktor was glad for the soldier's sake that some superior office had thought to clean him up before sending him into this viper's nest.

The servants brought another stool, place settings were shifted, and after Yuri draped himself into his seat, the rest of the table sat.

"What is it like where you're from? The east?" Yuri asked Yuuri with no preamble.

Yuuri hesitated. "The east is a large place," he said. "As is the north."

"But where are _you_ from?" Yuri demanded, not even noticing as the servants began to move around the table with the wine.

Yuuri described the islands at the far east of the world, of the high mountains and fertile fields, of the palaces and temples in the main cities. Not once did he talk about the hometown of which he had told Viktor, nor of the role he now played as keeper of the peace in that land.

At the far end of the table, Mila, Minami and Altin were keeping up a quiet but spirited conversation. Viktor would far rather have listened to what the young people were up to, but he knew that he had to keep his attention on Yuuri and the prince regent.

As the first dish was brought out, Yuuri drew out a small wrapped cylinder from his sleeve. Yuri interrupted his own questions to demand, "What is that?"

"Eastern eating sticks," Yuuri said. He unfurled the cloth wrapping to reveal two narrow smooth sticks, whittled down to a tapered point on one end. "It is a way to eat without using the hands." He demonstrated by picking up a small baked nut off the plater in front of him.

Morozevich grunted. "Seems an overly finicky way to eat, if you ask me."

Yuuri's eyebrow arched. "There are many things over which each culture thinks it does best." With that, Yuuri popped the nut into his mouth.

The headache behind Viktor's eye was starting to grow sharp.

Dinner wore on. Yuri never stopped in his questioning of Yuuri, although thankfully his questions skirted military matters, and he never asked outright about the battle with the Elven King. Either Yakov's lessons in subtlety were getting through to the young man, or else he was intent on being the only audience for that particular story.

Morozevich grumbled and Orlovich kept up a near-constant string of polite disapproval. After a sixth such snide remark, Yuuri turned to Viktor and asked his opinion, very clearly disregarding what Orlovich had said.

Watching the man stew about the snub was a highlight in the otherwise difficult dinner.

When the final course of sweets was brought to the table, Yuri wiped his hands on the tablecloth. "Elvenslayer—"

Yuuri winced. "Please, your highness. Call me Katsuki."

Yuri preened with this perceived honour. "Will you stay and teach me swordsmanship?" he demanded. "There is much I wish to learn from you."

The room fell silent.

Yuuri set his eating sticks down. "You wish me to teach you swordsmanship?" he asked.

"Yes, very much!"

Yuuri looked at the young prince regent. "There are many of your own people who could teach you to wield a sword."

"But I want to learn from the best!"

Yuuri's brow creased in a frown. "You have the best sitting right here." He turned and made a small bow at Viktor. "The tales of Viktor Ivanovich's skill and speed are still spoken of on the high roads between here and the east."

Viktor's heart skipped a beat as he gazed into Yuuri's eyes. Was that what Yuuri had been trying to say earlier? If so, the world was sorely in need of new heroes.

The prince regent's scoff broke the moment. "He only has one arm, what can I learn of fighting from a one-armed man?"

All emotion fell off Yuuri's face. Slowly, he turned to look at the young man who shared his name. "I will teach you," he said after a pause. "My apprentice and I must begin our return journey soon, before the winter sets in, but before we leave, I will teach you."

"Good!" Yuri crowed. He jumped out of his seat, then, under Yakov's glare, sat back down. "You'll see, I'll be the best student!"

Viktor glanced down the table. Minami and Mila wore rival frowns, and even Altin's stoic mask had cracked enough to show unease. Yakov looked worried, while Morozevich was shaking his head.

And Orlovich? Orlovich looked... Pleased?

Anxiety pooled in Viktor's guts. The prince regent's demands, he could handle. Cultural misunderstandings with Yuuri? Viktor could smooth over.

But Viktor wasn't sure that anything good could come from Dmitry Orlovich looking quite so pleased.

* * *

The day was over. Dinner had passed, Viktor had delivered Yuuri and Minami to their rooms safely without any political disasters breaking out. Yuuri had been quiet on the walk up from the gallery, and he had accepted Viktor's promises of a tour around the palace grounds the next day without comment.

Minami had firmly closed the door on Viktor and Altin in the hall, leaving the two to blink at each other. "What are we going to do with you?" Viktor finally said.

Altin raised his eyebrows. "Sir?"

Viktor shook his head. "Go, find your way down to the barracks and get some sleep. Back up here by dawn, do you hear?"

Altin beat a prudent retreat.

Viktor nodded to the King's Guard stationed along the corridor for the night watch on his way to his own rooms. It might be an unnecessary precaution, but Viktor doubted any harm could come of it.

When Viktor finally made it through his own door, the room was nearly dark. The coals of the fire glowed with enough light for Viktor to make out Makkachin's sleeping form on his blanket on the hearth. With a sigh, Viktor hobbled over to the fireplace. With some little effort, he managed to light a small taper to transfer the flame to the candle on his desk.

Sinking into his chair, Viktor regarded the flame. The small spot of light was soft and quiet, a complete contrast to the chaos Viktor had endured in this day.

Viktor's thoughts returned to Yuuri. The man had been so fascinating the dinner. He had handled the prince regent's demanding conversation, deftly deflected Orlovich's remarks and Morozevich's grumbles. Frequently, too, he had turned to Viktor and drawn him into the conversation.

Those moments in which they spoke together lingered like warm honey in Viktor's mind.

And he was so _beautiful_.

Viktor slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes to draw out the vision of Katsuki Yuuri. Viktor couldn't decide when he had been more striking; dusty from the road in that small courtyard, a vision of quiet menace. Or maybe it had been when Viktor first saw him in his finery, his hair glossy black over his shoulders and his gaze so direct.

Viktor wanted to hold on those memories forever.

The candle sputtered. Recalled to the moment, Viktor hauled himself up. He had to get ready for bed, for tomorrow the court would gather and Viktor needed to have an early word with the prince regent.

Undressing with one hand was a skill he had learned over the years, and soon Viktor was down to his linen undergarments. Carrying his candle, he made his way over to his bed. He had just set the candle down again when he heard voices in the hall.

That was strange. In the palace, what was strange was a potential danger. Hurriedly, Viktor crossed the room and opened his door to see what the disturbance was.

The dim light in the hall showed the King's Guard blocking Yuuri's path. "What is this?" Viktor called.

One of the King's Guard swung around. "This man wishes to see you," he replied.

"Then let him come," Viktor said.

"He is armed," the guard went on. For all that Yuuri did not know the northern language, he must have understood the tone, for he glared at the guard.

"And I am in a room with many swords," Viktor snapped. "Let him pass."

The guards parted. Yuuri slowly walked past them, favoring each with a stare before turning to face Viktor. "I did not intend to be a problem," he said when he was at Viktor's door.

"You are not." Viktor glanced back down the hall. "You may return to your posts," he told to the guards pointedly.

Reluctantly, the men went back to their stations.

"Is something wrong?" Viktor asked, standing back to let Yuuri in.

"No." Yuuri ran his tongue over his lower lip. "I wanted to speak with you. Alone."

 "Please," Viktor said. Then, realizing his near-naked state, he stumped over to his clothes press and dragged out the first thing to hand, an old brown woolen robe worn threadbare over the years. Viktor swiftly yanked the robe on, not bothering to belt it. "Will you take wine? Or mead?"

"If you will," Yuuri said. He had not moved from just inside the door.

"I will." Viktor was unaccountably nervous. Yuuri had been in his rooms earlier in the day, but there was something different now. The hour was late, and Yuuri had an expression on his face that Viktor didn't understand.

He had seen an echo of that expression on Yuuri's face years ago, as he lay injured after the battle with the Elven King.

To cover his uncertainty, Viktor hobbled over to the fireplace. He set a log on the grate, stirred up the embers until the wood caught fire, then moved around the room, lighting the other candles to illuminate the room in a soft glow.

As Viktor worked, Yuuri slowly advanced into the room. He still wore his silk finery with the northern sword at his hip. In the candlelight, he was a mysterious creature, more mysterious than many of the creatures that walked the wilds of the north.

While Viktor was reaching down the mead, Yuuri spoke. "I never thought to ask. Are you married?"

Viktor nearly dropped the bottle. "I—No."

Yuuri bowed his head. "I apologize for my rudeness."

"No, don't." Holding the mead bottle to his chest with the stump of his right arm, Viktor picked up two small glass cups, brought from the distant south and very precious to him. "It is a reasonable question. Are you married?"

"No." Yuuri's gaze followed Viktor as he moved over to the fire. "Our emperor suggested that my marriage could be arranged, should I wish it, but I have been too busy."

"At what?" Viktor asked, eager to learn everything about Yuuri.

"Many things." A smile ghosted over Yuuri's face as Viktor carefully poured the mead. "At first, it was rooting out the remains of the Elven armies in the east, especially in the mountains. Then it was rebuilding after the War. There were many lean years, but now houses and temples alike have been repaired."

Viktor set the glasses on a table between the chairs before the fire, and lowered himself into one. Yuuri perched himself on the other chair. "And in training your apprentice?"

Some of the tension left Yuuri's shoulders. "More in trying to avoid taking an apprentice," he said with another smile. "But Minami is a good student. Soon he will have no more need of me."

Viktor lifted his glass, saying a silent word of thanks to the gods for their mercy in giving him another day, and sipped. The sweet honey wine tasted of spices on his tongue.

Yuuri tasted, and let out a small sound. "Is something wrong?" Viktor asked.

Yuuri shook his head. "I wasn't expecting it to be so sweet," he said. He sipped again. "This is... I have never had anything like this."

"Yakov makes it," Viktor said. "He likes to complain that before Georgi and I were dropped on his doorstep, he had time to properly do his duties. Now all he has time for is brewing and yelling at the prince regent."

"Who is Georgi?" Yuuri asked.

"He is in charge of the King's stables," Viktor said. "He and I, Yakov raised us. We had no other parents. He is not my blood brother, but I do not think that matters."

"It is good, to have family," Yuuri agreed. "I am one of the lucky ones. My family survived the War. My sister, many honors came to her in battle. And my mother and father, they lived." He set down his glass. "Many others did not."

"No." Viktor poured more mead. "As an old soldier, I am glad that war has ended."

Yuuri looked at Viktor, his eyes dark and enigmatic. "Are you, too, a man who believes in peace?"

Viktor remembered their conversation earlier that evening, and he couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. "If you're suggesting that I have little sense, many will agree with you."

"Viktor!" Yuuri protested, laughing. The sound roused Makkachin briefly enough to look up, yawn, and put his head back down.

Yuuri's laughter warmed Viktor in a way he had never felt before, and he felt light-headed even though he was seated. "It is true, I tell you," Viktor said. "No sense. Just a foolish man."

The merriment in Yuuri's eyes faded. "Never a fool," he said as he put his glass on the table.

The words slipped out before Viktor could think. "But a man."

Quiet settled over the room as Yuuri stared at Viktor. Viktor found that he could not look away from this man's beautiful dark eyes. What was he thinking? How did he see Viktor? Did he see past the lopsided stance, the maimed body?

In the grate, a chunk of log fell with a soft whisper. The sound broke Yuuri from his examination, and he looked away. Viktor took in a long breath, wondering at himself.

"I did not come here to drink your mead, or to speak of pleasantries," Yuuri said abruptly. He stood up. "Many years ago, you gave me something, something that I did not deserve then, and do not deserve now. I came to the north to return it to you."

Viktor stared. "What are you talking about?" The only thing he had ever given Yuuri was his scabbard, and he couldn't mean...

But he did. As Viktor watched, astounded, Yuuri loosened the sword from his hip. He dropped to one knee before Viktor, holding the sheathed blade in offering. "This is yours. I should not have taken it after the battle with the Elven King."

Viktor blinked. "What are you saying?" he demanded. "You took nothing."

"You gave me your sword," Yuuri insisted, trying to give the sword to Viktor. Viktor put his hand over Yuuri's and pushed, half-falling out of his chair. With them both kneeling, Viktor was able to push the sword to the ground. "I didn't..." Yuuri struggled to speak, caught up in some strong emotion. "I didn't _earn_ it."

Viktor gaped. "Didn't _earn_ it?" he repeated. "Yuuri, you killed the Elven King! You fought off five Elven warriors at once on that battlefield, I saw it! Your strength as a warrior was unmatched!"

"That was a fluke!" Yuuri exclaimed. His hands were flat on the scabbard and he was breathing hard. "You battled the Elven armies for years with this sword, it belongs to you."

"A fluke?" Yuuri's words were lunacy. "I watched you fight the Elven King, Yuuri. Never have I seen a warrior battle any of the Elves with such skill or speed. That was no fluke!"

"That was..." Yuuri broke off. He stared down at the scabbard. "That was... I was terrified. That was not skill, just fear."

"God's bollocks, it was!" Viktor cursed. Yuuri jerked in surprise. "Everyone was afraid, that's what war did to us. It never gave anyone skills they hadn't earned." Viktor firmly pushed the scabbard over to Yuuri. "And what about those stories we all heard, that you had been battling the Elven armies for years in the east?"

"Not alone," Yuuri said, shaking his head. "I wasn't alone."

"But you were there," Viktor insisted. "How old were you when you took up a sword against the Elves? When you stood at the front of a charge and fought them until no more stood?"

Slowly, Yuuri picked up the scabbard to let it rest on his knees. "Fourteen," he said.

Viktor sat back in shock. True, Yuuri had said he was taken up by his people's army when he was eleven, but Viktor hadn't thought past that. A child with a sword on the battlefield in wartime, he could understand, but what boy of fourteen would have the skill, let alone the strength, to face an Elven army and come away the victor?

"How old were you when we met?" Viktor asked.

"Sixteen." Yuuri picked up the sword, traced the hilt with reverent fingers. "I had heard stories of you for many years, of the young general of the northern armies. How many battles you won, how many people you protected." He took a deep breath. "When I learned that the eastern and northern armies would meet up for battle against the Elves, I thought..." He looked up at Viktor, his eyes shining black in the candlelight. "I wanted to fight at your side. To show you my skill."

Viktor reached out to touch Yuuri's hand where it closed over the sword hilt. "You did."

"No, not like that." Yuuri closed his eyes for a long, drawn breath. "All my arrogant wishes, and when I saw you in battle with the Elven King, my sword had been broken and I was too late to help you."

"Yuuri." Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hand until the man opened his eyes. "You were not too late. You saved me. You saved everyone."

Yuuri let his head fall. Viktor moved his hand to cup the back of the man's head, a gesture he distantly remembered as a reassurance from his childhood.

"You're the only reason that I'm alive," Viktor whispered. "I would give you anything. My sword, my books, my small wealth, anything I possess."

After a moment, Yuuri looked up. "That isn't what I want from you," he said, voice low but strong.

Viktor couldn't stop himself from running his thumb over the curve of Yuuri's ear. The man shivered, but did not look away. Viktor didn't know what was happening in that moment, only that he had never felt so close to another person, had never felt so much _understanding_ with another soul—

Makkachin kicked, his foot making contact with Viktor's leg and waking the dog from his slumbers. Up he bounced, blinking in the candlelight and wuffing when he saw Viktor.

Viktor pulled away from Yuuri. "You had to wake up now?" he asked in the northern tongue, letting Makkachin climb into his lap in search of reassuring pats.

"He is a lucky dog, to have you," Yuuri said. Viktor glanced at him, in case his touch had been unwelcome, but Yuuri was looking at him with quiet eyes. "I should go. Minami will be wondering what is keeping me."

Yuuri stood effortlessly, the sword in his hand. Once Viktor had pushed Makkachin off his lap, he tried to brace his hand on the chair to gain leverage enough to stand with his damaged leg, but the angle was wrong. Gritting his teeth, Viktor moved his hand to try again.

Then Yuuri held out his free hand to Viktor.

Viktor didn't even hesitate before taking Yuuri's hand, letting the man pull him up to his feet. There was so much strength in those slender limbs, Viktor thought, then realized he was still holding Yuuri's hand. He let go.

"I will see you in the morning," Yuuri said.

"Yes," said Viktor. He followed Yuuri to the door and stood, watching, until Yuuri was back inside his room and the door closed. Only then did Viktor close his own door, and let his forehead fall upon the wood.

So much had happened. He had learned so much about Yuuri, and had fallen so deep into the man's eyes. His whole body tingled, and he knew he would not sleep that night, with thoughts of Yuuri in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

With all the court activities the following day, it wasn't until afternoon when the prince regent was able to escape the demands of his nobles and seek out Viktor to make demands of his own.

"My most noble Prince Yuri," Viktor said wearily from his spot by the window in the prince regent's room. "Dinner draws near and you will need to dress for the banquet. Perhaps I can arrange a lesson with Katsuki tomorrow?"

"No," Yuri snapped. He waited impatiently as his attendants unbuttoned his formal over-cloak. "I want to see him today. How can he teach me if we do not start immediately?"

Viktor looked out the window. The morning at court had been a long and trying one. There had been the usual presentations and speeches, then Yuuri, wearing an even more extravagant outfit than the previous day, had presented a scroll bearing peaceful tidings from the lands in the east.

It had been a thoroughly exhausting forenoon, and now the prince regent was bringing more demands down on Viktor's head.

"We have an hour," Yuri said, shaking himself free of his robe. One of the attendants caught it before the gilt-embossed fabric hit the floor. "Go fetch him, you are wasting time!"

"No."

The room fell into a shocked silence. Even Viktor was surprised at his own answer, but he swiftly recovered.

"I will _ask_ our honoured guest if he will join you in the courtyard by the fountain," Viktor said. Yuri glared at him. "It is quiet and none of the court will be in that area at this time of afternoon. I can only assume that you wish a private lesson."

Yuri snarled, then shook his head. "Fine! Go! Ask! I will change and be there!"

Viktor got to his feet. "I suggest clothes that you might move in," he advised on his way out of the prince regent's apartments. "And bring your sabre."

Making his way down the halls on his walking stick did much to help Viktor bleed off his irritation. He had acted rashly, he knew, in speaking so to the prince regent. But Yuri had acted as if Yuuri was a servant to be ordered about, not a guest much honoured in their lands.

Yuri had to understand that no matter his rank, he could not make needless demands and remain in favour.

Yuuri and Minami were not in their rooms. Nor, to Viktor's surprise, was Makkachin in his.

On his way down the stairs, Viktor hailed one of the palace staff and asked the woman if she knew where their guests had gone.

"They went out to the pond," the woman said. "The tall one, he said it was so loud here." She sighed. "They must not have court days in the east."

"Possibly," Viktor murmured, and headed off.

Outside, Viktor realized that he need not have asked. A loud happy barking drew Viktor along the garden walk to the large pond, nearly a quarter mile from the palace.

Yuuri and Minami were taking turns throwing a stick for Makkachin to fetch. The dog was in his element – the only thing he loved more than going out for walks was fetching a stick. Yuuri caught sight of Viktor and waved. Viktor waved back with his walking stick. Makkachin veered off course and ran up to Viktor, a well-gnawed branch in his jaws.

"Is Yuuri your favourite now?" Viktor asked, pausing to take the stick from Makkachin and throw it. Makkachin sped off. Viktor continued on, meeting Yuuri halfway. Both Yuuri and Minami had changed out of their formal garb and were back in the country clothing that Viktor had seen them in the previous day. "Ah, Yuuri!"

"Hello, Viktor," Yuuri said with seemed like, and could not possibly be, shyness. "I asked Altin if there was a place I could walk. He suggested here. Your dog came with us and I did not know how to send him back."

"Makkachin knows when a walk is in the offering," Viktor said. In the afternoon sun, the brown and burgundy highlights in Yuuri's eyes were gleaming. Really, Viktor could not think of another person who had such fascinating eyes. "He is a shameless dog, do not apologize for him."

For a few minutes, Yuuri and Viktor watched Minami throw Makkachin's stick, drawing Otabek Altin into the game. The young soldier wore his court-formal uniform but had pushed his hat back so his hair stuck out in places. He was, for the first time in Viktor's acquaintance, smiling.

"He is a good lad, your soldier," Yuuri said. "Very bright. Minami told me of the conversations they have been having, of the land, and politics, and battles."

Viktor raised his eyebrows. "I thought Minami's common needed work."

"It does," Yuuri said with a long-suffering sigh. "But he is a boy who can make himself understood across any language divide."

"Ah." They started walking, slowly enough to not put any pressure on Viktor's leg. "Yuuri, I have to ask you a question."

"Yes, Viktor?"

"It is about the prince regent." Was it Viktor's imagination, or did Yuuri's face fall? "He sent me ask you if you would honour him with a lesson, in swordsmanship. Before dinner."

Yuuri was quiet for a long minute. They continued walking towards Minami and Altin at the edge of the pond, and had nearly reached it before Yuuri said, "I will come. But I do not think that your prince regent will appreciate the lessons I have for him."

"How so?" Viktor asked. "Would you beat him with sticks? Make him run up a mountain carrying a heavy weight?"

Yuuri frowned. "Is that how they train your young soldiers here?" he demanded.

"Not anymore," Viktor said, shrugging off long-ago memories of his own training. "What are you going to do?"

Yuuri sighed. "Talk. Just talk."

"The prince regent will be very disappointed," Viktor said. "He wants you to teach him all of your secret warrior ways."

Yuuri let out a sharp bark of laughter. "I have no secrets. Ask Minami." Yuuri waved at his apprentice. "Minami, will you tell Viktor Ivanovich my secrets to being a warrior?"

Minami pursed his lips, thinking hard. "Not secrets," he said after a moment's deep thought. "Only, practice hard. And be better!"

Viktor looked at Yuuri, expecting the man to laugh again, but he was nodding. "That's it?" Viktor asked. "Your secret warrior ways are to practice hard and to be better?"

"Yes," Yuuri said. "And also know which end of the sword goes in your hand and which end goes in the enemy."

"A very important lesson," Viktor said sarcastically. This time, Yuuri did laugh.

Gathering up Makkachin's stick, they made their way to the fountain where Yuri was waiting impatiently, with Father Yakov in attendance along with a four-squad of the King's Guard.

"Finally!" Yuri said. Viktor glared at him, but it made no impact. "Come on, Katsuki, give me my first lesson!"

Yuuri bowed at the prince regent. "Your highness," he said. "You said last night, you wish me to teach you swordsmanship."

"Yes!"

As they spoke, Viktor made his way over to the edge of the fountain where Yakov sat. He motioned Makkachin to sit, and himself joined Yakov on the stone.

"What does that mean to you?"

Yuri frowned. "It means using a sword."

"To what end?"

While Yuri puzzled this out, Viktor said in an undertone, "Why are you here?"

Yakov scowled. "There are those in the court who do not think it wise to let a complete stranger from another land near the last heir to the throne with his _sword drawn_."

Viktor shrugged. "It is their own fault for refusing to allow him to learn to fight like other children."

Meanwhile, Yuri said, "To fight!"

"To protect yourself?" Yuuri asked.

"Of course!"

"And to protect others?"

"Yes!"

"Against what?" Yuuri asked. Yuri stared. "You are the prince regent. You could say, stop doing that, and would your people not agree?"

Yakov let out a soft hiss. "He's going to teach the lad philosophy?"

"Someone should," Viktor replied.

Yuri fidgeted. "Being the king doesn't mean people will listen to you," he said. "Sometimes, the king has to fight."

"There are other ways for a king to fight," Yuuri said. He began unbuckling his scabbard. "Altin, come over here."

Altin approached the pair cautiously.

"This soldier," Yuuri said, stepping over to hand Viktor the sword before moving back into the prince regent's range, his hands free of weapons. "He is yours to command. He will fight for you."

"Yes, but—"

"All these King's Guard," Yuuri gestured around the small courtyard. "They would fight if you asked them to. To defend you. Or to be on the offense."

Yuri didn't speak. Minami, who had remained standing at the edge of the small courtyard, was looking increasingly worried.

"Tell him," and Yuuri pointed at Altin, "To strike me."

"No."

"Do it," Yuuri insisted. "Tell him to take his sword, and strike me."

"No!"

"Then take out your sword and strike me yourself."

"No!" Yuri glared at Yuuri, heat rising to his face.

"Why not?" Yuuri hadn't moved, his hands loose at his sides, but Viktor was worried more for the young prince regent. "I am here, no weapons, and I tell you to strike me. Why do you not do it?"

"Because it's stupid!" Yuri burst out. "You telling me to do something that's stupid, is wrong!"

"Who says it's stupid?" Yuuri asked.

"I do!"

"Why?"

"Because!"

To Viktor's surprise, Yuuri nodded. "Because you are thinking," he said. "Viktor, come here."

Warily, Viktor set the sword beside Yakov, rose, and crossed to Yuuri's side. Altin stood beside the prince regent, his eyes steady and watchful. Viktor would have to say a word of commendation to the soldier's superior.

And then, in less than the blink of an eye, a knife appeared in Yuuri's hand, the blade hovering in the air over Viktor's heart. Viktor didn't move, but the air around them exploded into chaos. Altin whipped out his sword and put himself in front of the prince regent, while the King's Guard drew their weapons with shouts of alarm.

"Stop!"

At Yuri's shout the soldiers froze. Yuuri, who hadn't moved since the knife materialized over Viktor's chest, looked steadily at the young man.

"You aren't going to stab Viktor Ivanovich," Yuri went on. They all ignored the tremor in his voice.

"How do you know?"

Yuri pointed at Makkachin, still seated at Yakov's feet and drooling contentedly over his branch. "The dog didn't move. So Viktor Ivanovich doesn't think you're going to kill him." Yuri transferred his pointing hand to Minami. "If you were really going to kill him here, your apprentice wouldn't still have his sword in his belt. They knew you weren't going to do it, so I knew."

Another heartbeat, and Yuuri finally stood back. The knife slid into a sheath tucked artfully away at his waist. Viktor let out a breath. "You are using your brain, and your eyes," Yuuri said. "You are also making assumptions about someone you only met yesterday."

"So _are_ you going to stab him?" Yuri demanded.

"Not today," Yuuri said. "But if I was someone else? If that knife was coming for you, not your adviser?"

Yuri bit his lower lip. "If it was for me, I would have to defend myself," he said.

"Even if your guard was here?" Yuuri transferred his stare onto Altin. "What is the mission of the King's Guard?"

Altin lowered his sword. "To protect the life of the king, and of the prince regent," he said.

"At what cost?"

"At all costs."

"Including your own lives?"

"Yes," Altin said. "Is it different in the east?"

"No." Yuuri stepped away from Viktor, put his hands behind his back, and bowed to the prince regent. "Your highness, I cannot teach you swordsmanship as I would any other, because you are not like any other. For any of us, we defend our lives at but the cost of one. Your defence could cost dozens, if not hundreds, of lives."

Yuri whirled on Yakov. "Did you tell him to say this to me?" he demanded in the northern tongue.

"No," said Yakov wearily. "And I would rather he had not. But Katsuki Elvenslayer is not wrong, my prince. The King's Guard serve to protect you, at all costs."

"Then... then I'll dismiss them all!" Yuuri blustered.

"No, you will not." Viktor leaned on his walking stick. "You will let Katsuki teach you swordsmanship, as prince regent and future king, or you will not, and he will return home and I will find someone else to teach you how to handle a sword."

Yuri grew redder and redder until he finally shouted, "Fine! Tell him he can teach me!"

Viktor turned to Yuuri. "Katsuki Yuuri," he said in formal common words, "Prince Regent Yuri Nikolayevich agrees to your terms as tutor in the ways of swordsmanship, if you wish to continue."

Yuuri bowed to Yuri. "Your highness does me a great honour," he said demurely.

"I have to go prepare for dinner," Yuri said in the common language, then turned and rushed away. The King's Guard went with him, with Altin following.

Yakov rose creakily to his feet. He looked between Viktor and Yuuri, raised his hands to the heavens, and left.

Viktor hobbled back to the edge of the fountain. His leg ached with all the walking. "So," he said to Yuuri. "You're not going to stab me _today_?"

Yuuri looked in no way abashed. "Life has no absolutes," he said, moving over to sit beside Viktor. "I fear my demonstration has cost us our guide."

"Yes, imagine how young Altin might not want to keep showing you around, if you wave knives at everyone." Viktor rubbed at his damaged leg. "Still. If I can keep the lad here, in palace service, it might do the prince regent some good. He is too much around old men."

"What about his cousin?" Yuuri asked. He beckoned to Minami to sit at his side. The apprentice acquiesced, although he kept casting baleful glares at his master. "Lady Mila?"

"I suppose," Viktor said slowly. "Prince Yuri has not been encouraged to grow familiar with his father's people."

"Why not?" Yuuri asked. "Is this a northern custom?"

"No," Viktor said. He ran a hand over his beard, wondering what it was like to be cleanshaven, as Yuuri was. He pushed the thought away. "His mother, the King's daughter, married the son of a lord out of favor with the King. The King banished her from the court until it was learned that she was with child, and then, as he had only one child and no other heirs, he grudgingly relinquished the ban. When Yuri was born..." Viktor sighed, wondering at the politics of royalty. "Never has a king loved a grandchild as King Nikolai loved little Yuri. He was made heir before he was five months old. He's grown up in it."

"What of his parents?" Yuuri asked quietly. Behind them, the soft rush of the water in the fountain was music on the autumn afternoon air.

"Dead," Viktor said shortly. "One of the early Elven attacks on the north was in the cities in the west. The King's daughter and her husband died in the attack, as did most everyone else. The prince was here with the King. He was only five."

"My parents..." said Minami unexpectedly. Viktor looked over at him. "My parents dead, like prince. Elven attack. Brother, live. Healer."

"Minami's brother became a medic in the Wars," Yuuri said, smiling at the pride on Minami's face. "He wanted Minami to follow in his footsteps, but Minami had other ideas."

"Prince like me," Minami went on. "Only, I fight."

"So you understand why the prince regent wants to learn swordsmanship?" Viktor asked. "You would teach him?"

Minami shrugged. "Can, yes. Otabek better choice." He grinned suddenly. "Altin is best swordsman in regiment!" he said in the northern language. "Lady Mila, she say so!"

"Lady Mila seldom speaks highly of others," Viktor replied in the common language for Yuuri's benefit. He tapped his finger to his lips. "I should speak with her."

Makkachin, growing bored with the inactivity, dropped his branch onto Viktor's boots to bark.

"Ah, Makka, I cannot play any more," Viktor said. He scratched under Makkachin's chin. "I must prepare for the dinner."

Minami got to his feet. "I can?"

"Of course."

Viktor and Yuuri watched in companionable silence as Minami threw Makkachin's branch down the path, then raced after him.

"Will you sit with me at dinner?" Yuuri asked after a few minutes.

"If that is your wish," Viktor said. He hoped his voice did not betray the sudden burst of warmth he felt, to have Yuuri ask such a thing of him. "I would like very much to have one with whom I may share my thoughts of the meal."

Yuuri turned a sudden smile on him. "How did a man of action like yourself ever get pulled into the courtly life?"

Viktor shook his head. "The young prince regent, he says one day, bring me someone who does more than talk. He was young and thought that I knew a thing or two."

The smile faded from Yuuri's face. "And yet, last evening, he said he had nothing to learn from a one-armed man."

Viktor sighed. "He meant with swords. He has long learned that a prince regent may say anything with no consequences, and sometimes that makes him tactless."

"Every word has consequences," Yuuri said. "My emperor, he is a man who speaks very little. Every word, he thinks on it."

"And you think that commendable?"

Yuuri fell silent. They watched Makkachin chase Minami around the gardens for a long time. Finally, Yuuri said, "I think I am a man better suited to fighting with swords, than with words."

"In my experience, you do both well."

Yuuri turned to Viktor. "You have known me for a day, Viktor Ivanovich."

"A day, here," Viktor said, not looking away from Yuuri. "And one day, very long ago. I learned much about you on that day, Katsuki Yuuri."

"Do you truly believe you can get to know a man in such short a time?"

Viktor ran his tongue over his lower lip. The intensity in Yuuri's gaze was a physical weight on Viktor's chest. "Not all of a man," he said. "But to know much of his character through his actions? Yes, I do believe that."

"And what do you know of my character?" Yuuri asked. His voice had gone low again, the words soft like silk over bare skin.

Viktor took a breath. "I know you are a man who takes his responsibilities close to your heart," he said. "You could have given the prince regent a simple lesson in swordplay, but you pressed him on the philosophy of leadership. You came all this way from the east with a message of peace when any other man would have said, pfhaw, let it not bother me." He put his hand on the stones between them. "And I know that I am very glad that you are here."

Yuuri let out his breath in a long, slow sigh. He placed his hand on the stones beside Viktor's, his fingers a hairs-breadth from Viktor's own. "The journey was very long," Yuuri said. "But I am glad that it has brought me here."

The peal of the tower bell carried through the warm afternoon air, reminding all that the hour of the fest drew near, but Viktor ignored it. He surrounded himself with the moment – the soft splattering of water drops from the fountain and the warm breezes bringing the scent of herbs from the gardens... and Yuuri, so close, so real, so _alive_.

The bell pealed again. This time, Viktor recalled himself to his duties.

"We should prepare ourselves for dinner," he said regretfully.

Yuuri bowed his head. "A good idea," he said. As he stood, he brushed his fingers over the back of Viktor's hand.

Heart hammering in his chest, Viktor stayed seated for a minute after Yuuri walked away. He had never felt this way about anyone, had never been reduced to a complete mess by a simple touch. He never wanted it to end.

But Yuuri had said he would be leaving soon, to travel home before the winter.

Pressing his hand to his chest, Viktor let out a breath. If he was to bid farewell to Yuuri so soon, at least he could spend time with the man, to talk with him, to share his company.

With a heavy heart, Viktor stood, and walked after Yuuri.

* * *

The banquet was, as things went, tolerable.

Viktor never drank wine at court events, sticking instead to small ale. Yuuri, obviously unconformable at the unfamiliar event, echoed Viktor's choices, even down to which foods he ate. While the courtiers ate and drank to excess, growing louder and more boisterous, Yuuri turned to conversation with Viktor about northern fighting techniques and weaponry.

Whatever the reason, Viktor was greatly relieved. He did not like large events, even though he was skilled at being able to navigate them.

Many of the courtiers walked past their place at the table, their stares blatant at Yuuri. He endured the scrutiny with a nervous stillness.

Luckily, Prince Yuri had recovered after his lesson with Yuuri. The prince regent was his loud self at the table, tasting every dish, demanding songs from the musicians and cheering on the dancers.

The evening wore on. When Viktor deemed that those remaining were too drunk to notice his absence, he stood. Yuuri was instantly on his feet. "May I accompany you?" he asked.

"I am leaving for the night," Viktor said in a voice too low to be overheard in the din.

"Excellent." Yuuri nudged Minami, who had fallen asleep at the table. "Up."

The three of them escaped the hall into the cooler air of the courtyard. No one bothered them as they made their way up into the living quarters. The King's Guard, all of whom were on duty that night, nodded to Viktor as they passed.

"The food was good," Yuuri said as they climbed the last flight of stairs to their rooms. He had his arm around Minami's back to keep the boy from stumbling in his exhaustion.

"Eating at this time of year is always the best." Viktor opened the door to Yuuri's rooms for him. "By the solstice, we'll all be sick of salted fish."

"It is the way of the seasons," Yuuri said.

Viktor went over to stoke the fire while Yuuri gently harangued Minami out of his robes and into his bed. Viktor settled on the chair by the fire, trying not to watch as Yuuri shed his own formal clothes and donned a light robe. He joined Viktor at the fire.

"I make assumptions," Viktor said by way of apology. "I did not wish to say goodnight, but I did not ask your leave to stay."

"You never need to ask my leave," Yuuri said quietly. "I would ask that you never left."

The room was dark enough that Yuuri could not see Viktor's blush. "Of what might we talk?" Viktor asked. "You can ask me anything."

"There is much I wish to know," Yuuri said. He settled beside Viktor and began to undo his hair. The long black strands cascaded over his shoulders, catching the glow from the fire. "Does your land have stories of the old ones? The spirit creatures who are only half of this world?"

"We do." Viktor's fingers ached with the memory of touching Yuuri's hair the night before. "Shall I tell you of them?"

As Yuuri combed his hair, Viktor wove a tale of the spirits of the northern hills, of the rusalkas and vodyanoy of the rivers, of the mavka who lured young people into the woods, and of the leshy that protected the vast forests of the north. As he spoke, with the fire burning down low, Viktor felt so at home that he never wanted the night to end.

* * *

"Katsuki!"

Viktor and Yuuri turned around as Altin hurried across the path. The young man returned Minami's smile, then he bowed to Yuuri.

"Sir, the King's Guard invites Katsuki to their morning training," Altin said in the northern tongue.

Viktor squinted up at the sky. "Morning? It is nearly ten of the clock. The morning training must have ended hours ago."

Altin didn't quite shrug, but he came close. "The training master wonders if Katsuki would care to see the skill of our northern swordsmen, and if he himself would wish to test them out."

"We can but ask." Viktor turned to Yuuri. "Do you want to go beat up a bunch of northern soldiers?" he asked in the common language. "Our training master has a whole squad you could test your skills on."

Minami let out a noise that sounded very much like a snort. Yuuri shot a glare at the young man. "If you think it advisable," he said.

"If you do," Viktor said with a grin. "Come, let us go!"

The training ground was at the other end of the palace grounds and took some little time to walk to. Yuuri looked around curiously at the serviceable barracks, built of the thick timbers from the land. The archery practice grounds were full of archers getting ready for the harvest feast demonstrations. Several soldiers were working on their horse tack, shining the leather and fixing any loose buckles.

Viktor breathed deep. He had spent much of his childhood on these grounds and the everyday activities set him at his ease.

Yuuri, on the other hand, was tense. Viktor wondered at the man. Did he not want to spar?

Viktor was struck by a thought. In the two days since Yuuri had arrived at the palace, he had gone out of his way to avoid drawing his sword. Viktor had thought this part of his desire to teach the young prince regent philosophy, but what if Yuuri didn't want to fight?

What if he _couldn't_ fight?

Uneasy, but not seeing a way to ask Yuuri such a question with all the curious ears around them, Viktor led the way to the training square.

The old training master had gathered his fighters there. When Yuuri and Viktor appeared, they all stood to attention. "Ah, Boris Ilyich!" Viktor called. "It has been many a day!"

"And you, Viktor Ivanovich," the older man intoned, before turning to Yuuri. "You do us honor, sir, in your visit."

Yuuri bowed. "I was told I was invited to..." He cast a side-long look at Viktor. "Train with you?"

"I see the lad found you, then," Boris Illyich said. He looked around, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know where he got to." He shook off the question. "Yes, Elvenslayer, we have many swordsmen who would be honoured to spar with you."

"As you say," Yuuri said. He stepped back to Minami's side while the old man clapped his hands and called out some orders. There was a shuffling among the ranks, and a line of about ten fighters formed, from a boy younger than the prince regent, to a few men of Viktor's age.

Yuuri was speaking quietly to Minami in their language, his eyes ranging over the lineup as he removed his sword from his belt. His gaze fell on the boy, up first in the line, and something in his eyes changed. He beckoned Viktor over.

"Yes?" Viktor asked.

Yuuri turned so he could speak without being seen. "Is this insult I am given?" he asked in a low, cold voice.

"What?"

"The boy," Yuuri said without moving. "Why is such a child thrown at me like this?"

Oh. Viktor was reminded of something Yuuri had said at dinner that first night, about the difference between cultures. "It is not insult," Viktor said quickly. "This, it brings in those who have achieved skills, in different ranks. Consider him a warm-up exercise."

If anything, Yuuri's expression darkened. "They set the boy up to fail? What lesson is that to him?"

"Do you want me to cut him from the line?"

"No." Yuuri took a deep breath. "It would be a humiliation to him." He turned around. "Minami, hold my scabbard."

In a dramatic flourish, Yuuri drew the sword with which he had slain the Elven King. Gasps filled the air. The blade was mostly black from the stains of Elven blood, but over time the black had gained an opalescent gleam. In the bright morning sun, the sword glittered like midnight stars.

Minami stepped back, holding the scabbard in his arms. Viktor also hastened to get out of the way.

Yuuri stepped into the ring and bowed to the boy, who was now looking terrified. "Come," Yuuri said. "We will spar. Viktor Ivanovich, please if you will translate my words to your tongue?"

Viktor complied. The boy did not look any more at ease, but he stepped into the training ring. He held his sword and a flat wooden practice shield with a coltish awkwardness. Yuuri, on the other hand, held the heavy sword as if it was an extension of his own arm.

"When you are ready," Yuuri said.

Gulping, the boy surged forward in an attack. In a move nearly too quick to be seen, Yuuri sidestepped, his sword flashed, and the boy was on the ground in a heap.

Nervous laughter from the ranks sounded as the boy tried to regain his feet. His face was bright red with embarrassment.

Yuuri flipped his sword around so the point was out of the way, and reached down to help the boy to his feet. "When you moved your hand, so, you betrayed where you would strike," he said to the boy, ignoring those around them.

Viktor translated as Yuuri demonstrated in slow motion what the boy had done.

"Try to hold your sword, so." Yuuri held up his arm, waiting until the boy copied him. "Then, attack, so." He sketched a downward stroke. "Brace your legs better, and bend at the knee. A straight leg will throw you off balance."

Still red, the boy tried the move a few times. Viktor had to admit, it did cut down on the warning he was giving about his intentions.

"We will try again." Yuuri took up his stance again. The boy struck, Yuuri successfully parried, and they traded blows for nearly half a minute before Yuuri knocked the sword out of the boy's hand. "Better."

He bowed to the boy, who clumsily bowed back before picking up his sword to dart away. He landed in a pack of his fellows, who jostled and cheered him.

Yuuri brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he turned to the line-up of soldiers. He raised his eyebrow. "Next?"

The next half hour was illuminating. Yuuri knocked down opponent after opponent with effortless ease. Some, he took down instantly, others he toyed with for a few minutes before disarming them.

As the fighters grew older and more experienced, Yuuri stopped playing. His strikes were solid and fast as a snake, as light on his feet as a young deer. Compared to him, the northern soldiers were big and clumsy, like fighting trolls in the hills.

But they had been watching. The last soldier in the line, a man Viktor remembered from the battlefields of long ago, struck and jabbed, nearly knocking Yuuri down a few times. In his hand, the heavy shield was an asset, a two-pronged assault on the warrior from the east.

And Yuuri had been fighting for half ah hour, while the man himself was fresh. It was not a fair fight, and everyone knew it.

Then the soldier's shield got Yuuri on the thigh and he stumbled back, falling. The soldier's blade whipped around, but Yuuri's fall turned into a roll. He kicked the man's leg out from under him and he went down heavily. In the moment after his back hit the ground, Yuuri's blade was over his heart.

Everything went still.

Breathing hard, Yuuri stepped back, and bowed.

Clapping rose up from the ranks, cheers for both the Elvenslayer and the northern fighter. The other man staggered to his feet, breathing as hard as Yuuri, and gave Yuuri a bow of appreciation. He would have a good story to tell in the coming winter months.

Viktor cheered along with the rest. What skill Yuuri had shown! What dexterity! He was so amazing. Viktor would have to tell him that once they were inside.

Yuuri raised his hand. "Thank you," he called out. The ranks settled down. "Your skills and talents are formidable. I see now why the northern armies are so well spoken of."

Murmurs of agreement swept over the group.

Without turning around, Yuuri went on, "Do you not agree, your highness?"

Instant silence.

Viktor whirled around to see the slight figure of the prince regent edging out from behind a wooden shutter, on one of the buildings that formed the training square. The young man held his head high. "I have been told much of the skills of the King's Guard," Prince Yuri said in the northern language. "Today it has been my honor to see that skill in action."

Anger warred with apprehension in Viktor's chest. How had Yuri secreted himself in such an area? Where were his guards? And what would he say next? His lack of interest in the King's Guard was a sore spot with the soldiers, Viktor knew. They grumbled and compared the lad to his grandfather, who had walked the training grounds every morning for inspection.

If they thought that Prince Yuri only came down on this day to watch the Elvenslayer...

A flash of red uniform at Yuri's back calmed one of Viktor's fears. Young Otabek Altin stood at his shoulder, an armed presence with the unmistakable stance of being on guard.

"Tell me," Yuri went on. "Who are the men who demonstrated their skills today?"

The warriors who had been defeated by Yuuri all stepped forward. The youngest had to be shoved there by old Boris Ilyich, but he was there.

Old Boris spoke their names, with each stepping forward and bowing low to the prince regent. To his credit, Yuri paid close attention to the names, and nodded to each. When Boris was done, Yuri said, "I look forward to seeing your demonstration of skill at the harvest feast."

Yuuri, who had been standing off to the side during this, moved into Yuri's line of sight. "If I may be so bold, Prince Regent?"

Viktor, who remembered when Yuuri had last used that phrase, groaned quietly.

"Yes, Katsuki Elvenslayer?" Yuri said with extreme formality.

"I have heard many tales of the skill of Otabek Altin, who stands at your back." Yuuri inclined his head to the young man. "He is on guard, I see, but if he has some time..." Yuuri let the request trail off.

"Of course!" Yuri said, looking at Altin. "Go, show him how good you are."

Viktor winced internally. He hoped that Altin was as good a fighter as Mila had said, or this was going to be embarrassing for everyone involved.

Altin stood where he was until a new guard was in place for the prince regent, then he walked across the training ground. He spoke quietly to old Boris as he shed his formal jacket, which would have restricted his reach. He drew his sword, but instead of picking up a shield, he drew out the knife from his boot, a shaft of metal about the length of his forearm. Only then did he turn to face Yuuri.

For the first time on the training ground, Yuuri grinned. He drew his own knife, the one that had come so close to Viktor's heart the previous day, and flung himself at Altin.

They met in a clash of steel. Yuuri had a few inches on Altin, but Altin was better rested. They drew together and apart, circling, feinting, testing each other. Viktor's breath was in his throat as he watched. Yuuri might be the better swordsman, but Altin had seen Yuuri's fighting technique while Yuuri had sparred with the other King's Guard.

Who would win?

They kept at it. Each used their knife hand to parry sword blows, those swords themselves always in motion. The fight was artistry, a deadly dance of two well-met opponents.

Viktor spared a quick glance at the prince regent. The young man's face shone, his eyes watching in awe at the speed and skill before him. Good, Viktor thought as he turned back to the fight. This may get the lad interested in his military forces after all.

With a swift jab, Altin caught Yuuri's sword and knocked it out of Yuuri's hand. Viktor gasped at this disaster – with only a knife, Yuuri could not hope to defeat Altin.

What he wasn't expecting was for Yuuri to immediately tackle Altin. He slammed Altin's sword hand to the ground, making his drop the weapon, then kicked at Altin's knife hand. As Altin rolled to try to grab his knife, Yuuri grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and put his knife to Altin's throat.

"Yield!" Altin croaked.

Yuuri let go of the young man's hair and he collapsed to the ground. Yuuri stood up, limping a bit. He sheathed his knife and held out his hand to his opponent.

Altin stood with Yuuri's help. They were both panting for breath and dripping with sweat as they clasped arms, an acknowledgement of a good fight.

Cheers raised to the sky. Viktor looked at the prince regent again. That look of appreciation and awe was still on the young man's face... but he wasn't looking at Yuuri. He was looking at Altin.

Interesting, Viktor thought to himself.

Altin's fellows were slapping him on the back, while Yuuri moved to the side, picking up his sword and carrying it over to where Minami stood. The apprentice grinned at Yuuri. "Work hard, be best!" he said to Yuuri.

"Yes," Yuuri said. He carefully wiped his blade as Minami tried to dust him off. "Work very hard."

"You were magnificent," Viktor said. Up close, Yuuri was sweaty and flushed, exhaustion bleeding off him as he grinned up at Viktor. In that moment, everything that Viktor had been dancing around suddenly came together, like a flash of sunlight of the tip of a sword.

He wanted Yuuri, body and spirit.

The realization froze Viktor's tongue, but Yuuri didn't seem to notice. "That was a good fight," Yuuri said, sheathing his sword. "Mila was right, the boy shows talent."

Viktor caught on the word. "Talent?" Viktor repeated. "He ran you around the training ring in circles."

Yuuri's expression changed to one of complete innocence. "Yes, he did," Yuuri said solemnly.

Viktor narrowed his eyes at Yuuri. Had the man held back in the match with Altin? To what end? It hadn't appeared as if he was bluffing.

Viktor realized that Yuuri's attention was no longer on him. Following his gaze, Viktor saw that Yuuri was watching the prince regent, who was enthusiastically congratulating Altin on the fight.

Viktor had so many questions that he couldn't ask. For now, all he could do was to slap Yuuri's shoulders and congratulate him again on a match well-won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 on Wednesday! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

The next day the palace was taken up with preparations for the harvest feast. Viktor, who had no desire to be anywhere around with that sort of chaos underfoot, rose early and headed down to the kitchens. He was a familiar enough presence there that he could get away with scooping up a loaf of freshly baked bread and a dried sausage destined for the breakfast table.

"Viktor Ivanovich!" came a shout as Viktor was trying to wrap his hoard in an embroidered cloth to carry one-handed. "What are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Hello, Baba Mariya," Viktor said to the diminutive old lady. "I have a desire to go far away today, so I am taking some of your fine food!"

The old woman harrumphed. "Your flattery will get you nowhere," she said. "And all this for only one man?"

Viktor shrugged. "Maybe it is not for one man."

"Maybe for an eastern warrior?" the woman said, her eyes twinkling. "They say he took down my grandson in front of the prince regent yesterday, yes?"

Viktor frowned. "Which one was your grandson?" She told him, and Viktor nodded. "Yes, he did very well! He stayed on his feet for nearly two minutes."

"And you want to give such a man this peasant food?" Baba Mariya demanded, shoving Viktor out of the way. "Not from my kitchen, you won't!"

Viktor protested as the woman packed up a loaf of the finest bread, normally destined for the prince regent's own table, along with cheese, strips of dried venison, a few of the sweet apples, some dried cherries, and the sausage he had grabbed in the first place. "Baba Mariya, that is too much food for two people! I am not traveling to the mountain wastes!"

She batted aside his argument. "The Elvenslayer will not see a poor meal while he is in this palace!" she told Viktor. "Now, go, go, we have much to do. We do not need decorative men standing around taking up space!"

Viktor scooped up the parcel and began backing towards the door. "Baba Mariya, you are the true treasure of the north!" he called over the din of the kitchen. The cooks giggled as Baba Mariya made as if to chase Viktor out. He bolted.

Heart light, Viktor whistled as he hobbled up the steps to his rooms. He slung the package onto his desk before going to dress in his riding clothes. He spotted Makkachin sniffing the bag suspiciously.

"No, not for you," Viktor said, tapping on Makkachin's rump. "Later, not now!" Makkachin whined and crouched by the foot of the table.

Once dressed and booted for riding, Viktor swung out into the hallway. His tap at Yuuri's door brought Minami. "Good morning!" the lad said in the north tongue. "Is day of… sun?"

"Yes, much sun today!" Viktor said in agreement. "Is Yuuri within?" he asked in the common language.

"Katsuki, yes, inside," Minami said. He called over his shoulder in the language he and Yuuri shared. A moment later Yuuri appeared, with all the signs of hasty dressing. To Viktor's eye, he was lovely.

"Yuuri!" Viktor exclaimed. "Come for a ride with me! It is a beautiful day."

Yuuri put his hand over his mouth to cover a yawn. "Viktor, don't you have work to do? I know there's a lot going on right now."

Viktor waved that away. "Before the feast, it is best to stay out of the way. I have much food and a desire to see the beauty in the mountains." He winked. "Come with me?"

Yuuri bit his lower lip. "I don't know," he said slowly. "There must be something I have to do here?"

"Go," said Minami unexpectedly. "Please. Go." He went on in his own language, at length. Yuuri inserted a protest on occasion. At the end of Minami's diatribe, he was scowling slightly.

"Yes, Viktor, I will go with you on a ride," Yuuri said. "Minami will stay here where he will engage himself in _improving tasks_."

 Minami did not look cowed by this directive. "Go away, get horses," he said to Viktor. "Katsuki into shoes, meet you at…" He made a gesture with his hands. "Horse house."

"Stables," Viktor said. "I will see you there, Yuuri!"

Yuuri yawned again as he nodded.

With a light heart, Viktor went to his room to fetch the food, his sword and Makkachin, and headed to the stables. There, Viktor asked one of the stablehands to saddle up his horse and to put Yuuri's saddle on one of the stable mounts who was used to climbing the mountain trails.

While the groom was at work, Viktor went to the stalls where Yuuri and Minami's horses were stabled. "Fine stock," observed another groom behind Viktor. "Maybe not as tall as northern horses, but sturdy."

Yuuri's horse came over to Viktor, large eyes curious and alert. "Are you enjoying your rest?" Viktor asked, giving the horse a stub of carrot. It nibbled delicately. "You have come a long way from your distant lands."

Minami's horse joined them, seeking its own carrot. Viktor obliged and stood watching them crunch for a while before they went back to their hay.

Viktor's horses were saddled and loaded with supplies for the day by the time Yuuri appeared. "I got lost," he explained, panting a little. "I apologize."

"No need!" Viktor said cheerfully. "Come, let us go! The day will be hot and I want to make it to the hills before the dew is off the grass."

Viktor stowed away his walking stick, mounted his horse and waited for Yuuri to do the same. With trepidation, Yuuri approached the large beast. "Where's my horse?" he asked.

"Still in the stable," Viktor said. "The northern hills are tricky and this animal knows the trails. If you want, I can get the grooms to saddle your horse."

"No," Yuuri said quickly. "Anything but that." He hauled himself onto the horse with a decided lack of grace. "I'm ready."

"Then off we go!" With a call to Makkachin, Viktor turned his horse's nose to the west.

The ride through palace grounds was a quiet one, as it was too early for the court to be awake. Viktor pointed out sights to Yuuri. Makkachin trotted along at the mare's side, spoiling for adventure after a few days cooped up in the palace.

Once they were out on the road, Viktor called to Yuuri, "Do you want to race?"

"That depends," Yuuri replied. "Will you come back for me when I fall off?"

"Oh, Yuuri, of course!" Viktor said. "I don't want to have a picnic all myself!"

In response to Yuuri's glare, Viktor urged his horse into a gallop. Yuuri did the same to his mount, and off they went, down the road to the west.

As they rode, Viktor laughed into the wind. He loved this – the speed, the sturdy horse under him, the beautiful autumn sunshine. And now he had Yuuri to share it with.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Yuuri was on his heels, grinning at Viktor as he urged the horse to speed up.

This was already the best day of Viktor's life.

After half a mile, Viktor held up his arm to signal to Yuuri, then slowed his horse to a trot. Yuuri overtook Viktor and rode on for several yards before the horse decided it wanted to slow down. Viktor laughed at the expression on Yuuri's face. "A spirited animal!" he called.

"How do I turn around?" Yuuri asked.

"Do not bother," said Viktor as his horse drew level with Yuuri's. "It will follow me. Come on!"

In spite of Yuuri's direction, the horse caught up with Viktor's own, and they ambled along at a trot for a while. "I envy you your way with horses," Yuuri said. "They don't seem to like me very much."

"When you are nervous, that makes them nervous." Viktor glanced around for Makkachin. He spotted the brown fur back down the road moving in their direction. "Minami is good with the horses?"

"He spends more time around them," Yuuri said. "Can we slow down? I feel as if my teeth will rattle out of my head."

"Of course." Viktor slowed the horses to a walk.

"Where are we headed?" Yuuri asked. "You said you wanted to see the mountains."

"I do!" Viktor gestured towards the hills to the northwest. "Up there, we will find the old orchards, abandoned long before the days of the king's grandfathers. Yakov used to take me and Georgi up there in the fall to collect apples and berries for him to make the winter's cider. It is very beautiful, and a place where I had much happiness growing up." He glanced at Yuuri. The man was looking back at him, eyes glowing warm in the morning sun. "I hope you will like it."

"If you are happy there," said Yuuri, "Then how can I not?"

Butterflies fluttered in Viktor's stomach at the words.

The ride up to the hills took a couple of hours. They stopped once to let the horses drink, and to take a small breakfast of bread and dried cherries. After that point, they began the climb, and there was less time for talking as Viktor had to watch the path for any danger to the horses' feet.

As they climbed, the trees around them grew thicker and taller. The sound of the wind rushing through the pine tops was the loudest sound.

Viktor loved these woods with all his heart.

They finally reached the crooked spruce tree. Viktor dismounted. He beckoned Yuuri to do the same. "We have to walk the rest of the way," he said. "Otherwise we'll get lost."

Yuuri, who had already been looking nervous, frowned. "That does not make any sense."

"I know," Viktor said. He called Makkachin to his side. "Here, let's go."

Keeping a hold on his horse's reins, Viktor turned around the spruce and headed down the sheltered walkway that was hidden from the road. As always, Makkachin walked along close to Viktor's side.

Viktor glanced back several times to make sure that Yuuri was following him, but most of his attention was on the path. That was the trick with this part of the forest – always to pay attention to where you were, so the forest spirits wouldn't think you were one of them and scoop you up to take you away. That was what Yakov had said to Viktor and Georgi when they were small boys, and while Viktor was mostly sure it was nonsense to keep them from straying, he could not shake the superstition.

Viktor spotted the carved stone to the left to the path. The trail tilted downwards, steep and winding, then Viktor stepped out into the old abandoned orchard. His horse nickered in relief. "There, there," Viktor said soothingly. "Let's get you unsaddled."

Makkachin barked and ran towards a tree. Viktor spotted a flash of red fur as a fox bolted for the safety of the woods. Shaking his head, Viktor turned to make sure Yuuri had made it down the incline.

Yuuri was standing, staring, his mouth open as he looked out on the expanse in front of them. "Viktor…" he breathed. "I never imagined anything like this."

Viktor followed his gaze. Between the old trees, the view opened out onto the tall snow-bound peaks to the north, soaring to breathless heights. The skies overhead were the deepest blue. A hawk screamed overhead.

Viktor let out a sigh. He loved it here.

"This place…" Yuuri drew up to Viktor's side. "It's so quiet."

"It is," Viktor agreed. "Come, let us unsaddle the horses and let them graze. Then we can have our picnic!"

Yuuri had to do most of the work, as unsaddling a horse was a job for a two-handed man. Soon the horses were munching the tall grass while Makkachin sniffed the trees. Viktor carried the blankets over to the best spot in the soft meadow, Yuuri following with the food. Together they laid out the blankets, and finally sat down.

Viktor stretched. He had been stuck in the palace for too long. This was what he truly loved – the open spaces, the peace. And to share it all with Yuuri was the best gift of all.

"This is all so…" Yuuri said something in his own language. "Seeing all this, I wish I was a poet."

"I like poetry," Viktor said, smiling at Yuuri. Yuuri blushed. "And I like to listen to you. Make a poem for me."

Yuuri blushed harder. "I am only a poor warrior," he said. "I know my letters, but I could never do justice to what I see." His eyes were steady on Viktor's face.

Viktor patted Yuuri on the arm. "I believe you could do anything you wished to do. Poetry, statecraft, anything."

Yuuri shook his head. "There are days when I want only to do…" He gestured at the mountains. "This. Nothing. Sit and contemplate the beauty in the world." He rubbed his eyes. "But then I feel guilty at not doing more. When I was a boy, before the war…" His voice trailed off as he stared out at the mountains.

Viktor let the silence sit. He knew the effect that the orchard could have on a man. When he had been younger, after returning from the war, he would come up here alone, trying to figure out his place in a world that no longer needed him. That had been in the early years of the prince regent's rule, guided by the old men of the King's court, before Viktor was pulled into palace life.

Yuuri sighed. "When I was a boy," he said again, this time deliberately, "My parents, they owned a small inn at the hot springs in our town. We didn't have much. I don't remember an hour when they weren't working. And so, my sister and me, we worked too."

"What did you do?" Viktor asked, unable to hold in his curiosity.

"Everything," Yuuri said. "Cleaning, running errands for the guests, running the laundry down to the harbour, bringing fish and vegetables back up to the kitchen. The only time I had a break was when my mother sent me to learn my letters. I felt bad because I wasn't helping them, but my teacher told me that I could help them more if I was a man of learning."

"And you did all that until you went off to war?"

"Yes." A gentle breeze caught a loose tendril of Yuuri's hair, casting the dark strand over his shoulder. "And there were different lessons to learn there."

Yuuri fell silent once more. Viktor left him with his thoughts. He unpacked the food parcel, then hauled himself up to make the short walk to the spring. The clay jug Viktor remembered from his childhood was still there, tucked into a safe spot by the spring's burbling mouth. Viktor rinsed the vessel out, filled it, poured out a small amount onto the ground in an offering to the leshy, then refilled it to take back to Yuuri.

In his absence, Makkachin had settled down on the blanket, his head on Yuuri's knee. "I didn't like to let him eat anything until I asked you first," Yuuri said.

"He can have a bit of cheese and some of that bread," Viktor said. "The dried meat is too tough for an old dog's teeth."

Yuuri sliced up the bread and cheese, giving Makkachin his portion, then settled back to the meal. Viktor drank deeply from the jug to quench his thirst before turning to the food.

"You're very happy here," Yuuri observed after a while.

Viktor contemplated the view. "I am," he said. "This place, it has memories of when I was a child. Georgi  and I would run around the trees while Yakov gathered fruit, then we would all eat. Sometimes, when Yakov was after honey, we would gather the fruit, but it still felt like a game." He bit into one of the apples. "I don't know if anyone else knows of this place."

"And you brought me here?"

"Yes." Viktor looked over at Yuuri. "After you came all this way, I wanted you to see the true beauty of the north."

Yuuri put his hand on Viktor's knee. "I do see that beauty," he said, his lovely eyes fixed on Viktor.

Something warm curled around Viktor's heart. "Good."

They ate and drank, speaking little. The sun was warm in the meadow. The only sounds were the quiet bubbling of the spring, the gentle chomping as the horses grazed, Makkachin's soft breathing as he napped. With Yuuri at his side, Viktor lay back to relax. He closed his eyes, just for a minute.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun had moved in the sky. With a groan, Viktor sat up. Yuuri was still beside him, but he had acquired a handful of long grasses that he was weaving into a circlet. "Hello," Yuuri said. He placed the grass crown on his head. "I did not like to wake you."

"I am an old man, to be asleep in the daytime." Viktor stretched and lay back to look at the clouds. "What are you doing?"

Yuuri picked up another handful of grasses. "My sister and I used to do this when I was very small," he said. "She said, we were too poor to ever wear a real crown, so we had to make our own." The man's nimble fingers made quick work of braiding the stalks. "I don't like to do so in front of Minami. He still thinks that I am a serious man who knows what he is doing."

"Are you not?"

"I am a peasant boy caught up in matters beyond my understanding," Yuuri said. He twisted a vine around the circlet. "I can only hope to hold my head high."

"You do that very well," Viktor said. "I do not believe you when you say things are beyond your understanding."

Yuuri shrugged. "Minami says the same thing."

"Why did he want you to come on this ride with me, without you?" Viktor asked. "I haven't seen him out of your sight."

"Minami has been with me for two years," Yuuri said. "On this voyage, we have been together every day, all day. He wanted time away from his master, he tells me." Yuuri tied off the final strand. "We have seen the palace, and the guards know him. I believe him to be safe, so I came with you." Yuuri turned to Viktor. "Hold still."

With great solemnity, Yuuri removed Viktor's hat, then placed the grass crown on his head.

"Now you are like me," Yuuri said.

"And what is that?" Viktor asked, hardly able to breathe at Yuuri's sudden closeness.

Yuuri smiled. "Happy."

Viktor couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch Yuuri's hand. The pull of Yuuri's dark eyes was hypnotic, captivating, and Viktor felt himself falling again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, just him and Yuuri in the quiet meadow, with no responsibilities or worries.

But even as he had the thought, he knew that that was an impossibility. Yuuri had said he needed to leave for home before the snows began, and Viktor had a life in the palace. They could only stay here for so long before the world pulled them back in.

Viktor sighed. If only Yuuri wasn't so very beautiful, and kind, and intelligent, then maybe it would be easier to let him go.

"Yuuri…"

Yuuri's breath hitched. "Yes, Viktor?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"Anything," Yuuri breathed. He leaned in closer.

"What did you mean yesterday when you said that Altin had talent?"

Yuuri sat back. "What?" he demanded.

"You said, after you fought with Altin, that he had talent, but you appeared to be evenly matched." Viktor wondered why Yuuri was staring at him so. "What did you mean by that?"

Yuuri sprang to his feet and walked to the crest of the meadow. He stood looking out at the mountains, his back to Viktor.

Viktor stood awkwardly and hobbled over to Yuuri. "I did not mean to give offense," Viktor said. "Please, forgive me."

Without turning around, Yuuri said, "There is no offense, and nothing to forgive."

"Then what is wrong?"

Yuuri said something in his own language. Although Viktor did not know the words, he thought Yuuri sounded annoyed. "What is wrong," Yuuri said, switching back to the common tongue, "Is that I make assumptions, and in that I am a fool."

Viktor frowned. "What assumptions?" he asked. "About Altin?"

Yuuri yanked off his grass circlet. "None of this is about Altin!" he exclaimed. "This is about me, and—" He whirled around. Viktor was startled to see strong emotion on the man's face. "When I got your message, I thought you… I thought that meant that you held me in the same regard that I held you, but when I got here…" He angrily threw his grass crown into the meadow. "Tell me, is any of this about me? Or is it all politics for your prince regent?"

"What are you talking about?" Viktor demanded. "Regard? Yuuri, you are the best warrior in the world! How could anyone not hold you in regard?"

"That isn't what I want!" Yuuri shouted. "I don't care about what the world thinks! I care about what _you_ think!"

"What I think?" Viktor repeated. His mind whirled. What was Yuuri asking of him?

"Yes!" Yuuri closed the distance between them. "You get close to me, the things you say… then you back off. Is this a thing that men of the north do with those they regard?"

The hitch on the last word caught in Yuuri's throat. Viktor felt as if he was on the edge of a precipice, with nothing below him but air. He wavered for a moment, then he decided to jump. "What does regard mean to you?" he asked.

Yuuri's eyes burned as he stared at Viktor. "What?"

"What does it mean?" Viktor pressed.

Yuuri blinked. "It means… Much respect, and admiration, and…" He gestured at the sky in frustration. "Caring."

Viktor wondered if this was what flying felt like. "That's not what we mean when we say it," he said. "We mean, held in esteem.

Yuuri blinked again. The colour was rising in his face. "When would you say it?"

"To anyone who does something well."

Yuuri pressed his hand over his mouth for a long moment. "I see," he said finally, his voice wavering. He blinked hard. "Then it appears I am an even bigger fool than I thought possible. Please, forgive me."

"No, Yuuri, wait," Viktor said, not thinking as he reached out to catch Yuuri's hand. Yuuri stood rigid. "When you said, days ago, you wanted to share your deep regard with me, what did you mean?"

"I meant nothing," Yuuri said, trying to pull away.

Viktor wouldn't let go. "Do you feel for me as I… As I feel for you?"

Yuuri stopped moving. His eyes grew huge in his face. "What?"

"I cannot think of anything but you." Viktor lifted Yuuri's hand to his lips in a gentle kiss. "Ever since you came to the north, I find that I cannot bear to be parted from you. When I am with you, when we speak, it is of much joy to me."

Yuuri put his free hand on Viktor's arm. The warmth from his body was like a flame. "Really?"

"Yes." Viktor kissed Yuuri's hand again. "And I want to hold all of that now, because when you leave the north, the memories of these times will be all I have."

"Maybe not all," Yuuri said, his voice low, his eyes dark with intent. He stepped closer, his body pressing against Viktor's. Viktor's breath caught in his throat. "Maybe we can have more."

He kissed Viktor then, his lips soft. Viktor closed his eyes and melted into Yuuri's arms. Was this what kissing was like? His head spun as Yuuri's lips moved on his.

They stood like that for a long time, embracing and kissing, until Yuuri pulled back with a gentle sigh. He smiled up at Viktor. "Can I do that again?" he asked.

Viktor nodded. "Please."

The next kiss was deeper, more urgent. All was going along great until Viktor felt Yuuri's tongue on his lips. He jerked back involuntarily.

Yuuri looked confused. "Is that… is that not done in the north?" he asked uncertainly.

"I don't… maybe." Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's waist to keep the man from moving away. "I must confess that I have never given any time to the arts of… love." He looked down, not wanting to see the judgement that must be in Yuuri's eyes. "I have never before wanted to."

"Viktor," Yuuri said, and his voice was full of gentle wonder. "Have you never been kissed before?"

Viktor closed his eyes. An old crippled man, who had never even been given a kiss? What must Yuuri think of him?

"Viktor." Yuuri cupped Viktor's cheek. "Please, look at me."

Viktor lifted his head. Far from judgement, Yuuri's eyes held only warmth.

"A man of such beauty, a hero…" Yuuri ran his thumb over Viktor's cheek. "I had thought you would have taken many lovers by now."

"What could I provide?" Viktor asked. He let his forehead rest against Yuuri's. "I have no lands, no skills with only one arm. Who would want me?"

"I do." Yuuri's voice was firm. "I want you, Viktor." He kissed Viktor again. This time, when Yuuri's tongue touched his lip, Viktor opened himself to Yuuri, and was lost in the sensation.

Yuuri's hands roamed over Viktor's back, his arm, all the layers of clothes suddenly too hot for the late summer day. Viktor kept his arm around Yuuri's waist, wanting Yuuri close, closer. When Yuuri's wandering hands reached Viktor's shoulders, he groaned.

"Viktor," Yuuri whispered into his mouth, then giggled when Viktor kept kissing him. "Viktor, hold on."

"What?" Viktor asked breathlessly.

Yuuri stepped away, trying to look solemn. "Come with me," he said. Viktor went with him back over to the blankets. "Sit." Viktor sat. "Now, lie back."

Hesitantly, Viktor lay down. Yuuri joined him, stretching out beside him, nearly touching.

"May I be so bold as to kiss you again?" Yuuri whispered.

"Yes," Viktor whispered back.

Yuuri shifted closer until he lay pressed against Viktor. He traced Viktor's cheek, his ear, then put his hand behind Viktor's head and kissed him deep.

They lay like that for some time, kissing, touching. Viktor felt like he was floating in Yuuri's arms. He had never imagined that kissing could feel like this. He never wanted it to end, never wanted this moment to--

Something licked Viktor's ear.

With a squeal, Viktor jumped, nearly rolling over Yuuri. He blinked up to see his horse standing on the blanket. "What?"

She neighed, tossed her head, then stepped closer to Viktor. Underneath Viktor, Yuuri began to laugh helplessly.

"What?"

"Your crown," Yuuri said between gasps. "She wants your crown."

Viktor sat up and pried the now-ragged grass braid off his head. "This?"

The horse chomped delicately on the braid and walked away to eat in peace. Yuuri was still laughing. "You should see your face!" he wheezed.

"She licked me!" Viktor protested, wiping his ear.

"Your face!" Yuuri said again.

"You think it's funny?" Viktor pounced on Yuuri. He held him down and stuck his tongue in Yuuri's ear, making the man shriek.

"Viktor!" Yuuri cried out, trying to shake Viktor loose.

"See what it's like," Viktor said. Yuuri hooked his legs under Viktor's and rolled them, so Yuuri was on top. He sat up on Viktor, pinning him on the grass.

"What now?" Yuuri asked, his eyes sparking in mischief.

Viktor struggled for a moment, then lay still. "Maybe I will stay here," he said. "I like this."

"Me too." Yuuri leaned down to kiss Viktor one last time. "I like it very much."

They made their way back to the blanket. After sharing the jug of water, Yuuri laid his head in Viktor's lap. This let Viktor do something he had been craving for days, to touch Yuuri's hair again. It was thick and smooth under his fingers.

Yuuri let Viktor play with his hair for a while. "This is not how I expected today to go," Yuuri confessed.

"What did you expect of today?" Viktor asked.

"I don't know." Yuuri yawned. "More politics at the palace, perhaps."

"This is why I do not like when the court is there," Viktor said. He traced the line of Yuuri's clean-shaven jaw. "No one says what they mean. It was easier when I was in the army." He considered. "Maybe not easier. But different."

"You are a man of action," Yuuri agreed. "As I am."

"Yet you have a mind that turns to politics," Viktor said. "If I ask you a question I posed earlier, will you jump again?"

"That," Yuuri said, and took Viktor's hand to kiss it, "Will depend on the question."

"Why did you arrange that fight with Otabek Altin as you did, yesterday?"

Yuuri kissed Viktor's hand again, before sitting up. "Which answer do you want to hear?"

"The real one."

Yuuri sighed. "Many had said that Altin was very good. I wanted to see that for myself, as I have fought beside warriors from Almaty before. They are very skilled, and he is no different." Yuuri unclasped his hair, sending the long tresses cascading down his shoulder. Viktor gulped. "But with the prince regent there, I thought it a useful lesson."

"To whom?"

"To him. To myself. To all the King's Guard." Yuuri began braiding his hair. "For Prince Yuri? To see what skilled warriors he has to defend him, and to see them as an asset. From what I saw in that first lesson with him, he sees them as a burden to be avoided or ignored, which is not only dangerous for a prince, but ends up with a lot of young soldiers needlessly dead."

"And yourself?" Viktor asked.

"I wanted to see what the fighting forces are like in the north, to better help the prince regent learn." He caught Viktor's raised eyebrows. "I am not foolish, Viktor. I was sent with messages of peace, but I know something of the world. The minute I draw my sword in the presence of the prince regent, he is in danger from anyone who wishes him harm and sees me as a place to put the blame."

Viktor was silent, digesting this. As much as he wanted to protest, that no one in the north would want to hurt the prince regent, it was a too-innocent view of the world. With Yuri out of the way, and the King near death, the line of succession would swing to any of the King's distant kin. And with that would come civil war.

"Maybe, if I was alone, I might not have to think of these things," Yuuri went on. "But I have Minami, and I am responsible to bringing him home. I cannot do that if I am dead."

He pushed his braided hair behind his shoulder. Viktor reached out to touch Yuuri's leg, and was pleased that the man smiled at him. "What of the King's Guard?" Viktor asked. "What was the lesson for them?"

Yuuri's smile turned to a grimace. "It has been a long time since the Elven Wars. It is one thing for soldiers to spar and practice, but if it comes to protecting the prince regent with their lives? To a true battle? Are they really ready?"

"Do you think they are?"

"The ones I saw yesterday? Not all," Yuuri said bluntly. "Altin, certainly, and maybe two of the others. But against a force that has been fighting all these years while they sit at home and grow soft?" He shook his head. "I cannot say that I find Prince Yuri to be… likeable. But he is important. If the north falls to chaos, how long before other lands try to make a grab for the riches here? Will that spill over into the south? And the wilds of the west?" Yuuri let his shoulders slump. "I have seen enough war, Viktor. I don't want any other children to lose their innocence in battle as I did."

"Yuuri." Viktor shifted over so he could put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. The man leaned against him. "All these things you say, that is what I want too. Peace across the lands. A prince regent who is strong on the throne. A King's Guard who are not lazy. I tried, in the early days, to keep them fighting fit, but the old courtiers did not want to pay what it would cost, especially as we rebuilt from the war."

Yuuri looked at Viktor curiously. "In the early days? What did you do after the war?"

Viktor gestured with his right arm stump. "I could not fight, but in the early days at least, many of the soldiers still looked to me for guidance. As their former general, I had a duty to them. I trained many of them, made sure they were fed, that their families had homes. I even tried to get a school built for their children. But the court would not have it. They said that the children of soldiers do not need to have any learning, all they need to do it grow up to fight."

"That is… I didn't know it was like that."

"Maybe that is why I accepted Prince Yuri's offer to be his adviser." Viktor turned to press a kiss against Yuuri's hair. "To try to help him make better choices that those old men."

"Is it working?" Yuuri asked, sounding skeptical.

"Somewhat. He knows how important the healing arts are, having been around his grandfather's sick bed so long. He helps those who have knowledge in those areas, to share and learn. He funds the mines, so the farmers can have better tools to help with their harvests. But until yesterday, I would not have said that he cared about his fighting forces in the way he should. With so many years of peace, the distance from the realities of war can be great."

"Even with you as his adviser?"

"Yes," Viktor said heavily. "I try to help, but mostly I am a failure."

"No," Yuuri said quickly. He went up on his knees in front of Viktor. "You are not a failure. You are brilliant and amazing."

"No, I am not," Viktor countered. "I'm only an old soldier with no idea how to help his people."

"You have many ideas!" Yuuri exclaimed. "At dinner that first night, your ideas were wonderful! Viktor, you know this land, you know its people! That is what Prince Yuri needs in an adviser, not old men who only think of themselves!"

Viktor stared up at Yuuri, fierce and angry. For _him_. Viktor held out his hand. "Help me up," he asked. Yuuri sprang to his feet, pulling Viktor with him. "We should be getting back."

"Viktor," Yuuri said. He kissed Viktor again, slowly. "You think of other people, and try to help them. Do you have any idea how rare that is in this world?"

Viktor cupped Yuuri's cheek in his hand, trying to imprint this moment in his memory forever. "Trying to help doesn't always mean that I do." He looked up at the sky. "We should get the horses ready. I hope they haven't gorged themselves too much on the grass."

It took them a while to leave the meadow. Makkachin had to be recalled from the hole he was digging under a tree, the horses needed to be saddled, the remains of the picnic gathered and stowed. Finally, all that was left was for Viktor to take the clay jug back, ready for the next person who visited the spring.

Something compelled Viktor to take one last drink of the cool spring water. As he lowered the jug, he saw Yuuri looking at him curiously. "What?" Viktor asked, putting the jug in its place.

"This place, it suits you more than the palace does," Yuuri said. "All this quiet."

"I think that can be said of any place we grow up." Viktor looked around the meadow, the orchard. He felt a sadness deep in his bones, as if he would never see this place again. Certainly he would not before the next summer, and many things could happen in a long northern winter. He shook off the melancholy. "Come, we must go."

Viktor led the horses out of the meadow on foot, the same way they entered. It wasn't until they were back on the main path and free of the forest's stillness that they paused to mount. As Viktor's foot touched the stirrup, Makkachin whined.

"What is it?" Viktor asked. Makkachin sat and panted at him. "Oh. All right." Viktor pulled a blanket over his horse's withers. "Up, Makkachin, up." The mare stood patiently as Viktor hoisted his dog up onto her back, waiting for him to settle, before climbing up himself.

"Is Makkachin well?" Yuuri asked, still on the ground.

"Yes, he is only old." Viktor stroked the dog's side. "We will have to walk back. Sometimes I forget how old we all are."

"I do not mind." Taking a gulp, Yuuri managed to get himself astride his horse. The horse let out an irritated whiny, but stayed in place.

"Any time I can spend with you," Viktor said, and Yuuri blushed red.

"Viktor!"

Viktor's laughter echoed in the forest as they set off down the trail.

The ride back took a long time, as Viktor did not want to push the mare with the extra weight. Yuuri and Viktor spoke of many things, such as Yuuri's home, what his parents and his sister were now doing in Hasetsu. Viktor explained how he grew up in Yakov's small household before he went into training with the King's Guard, and how Yakov became spiritual adviser to the King before the King's unfortunate illness.

Yuuri then shared tales of how Minami came to be his apprentice, with many a humorous tale about Minami's early days at training. Yuuri made himself the butt of the joke several times, teasing out laughter from Viktor, and smiling every time he did so.

By the time they turned onto the last mile, the sun was sinking in the sky. Yuuri sighed as they caught sight of the palace. "What is it?" Viktor asked.

"To return…" Yuuri gestured at the stone spires interrupting the skyline. "After what we have shared today, it makes me wonder about the time that we have left."

"The days are few before the autumn winds will be here," Viktor agreed with a heavy heart.

"The seasons never stop changing," Yuuri said. "Viktor, I would…" He trailed off. Taking a deep breath, he went on. "I would have you know that I will always treasure our time together."

The word were formal, but Yuuri looked so miserable that Viktor's heart broke. Then he had an idea that lifted his spirits to the sky. "Stay," he blurted out. "Stay here, overwinter. You can continue giving lessons to the prince regent, and we can…" Viktor smiled. "You can continue to show me your regard."

He had thought the play on words might make Yuuri smile, but he was not prepared for the intense look in Yuuri's eyes. "I would look forward to any opportunity to demonstrate the depth of my regard for you, Viktor."

Viktor had to swallow hard. It took him a few tries to say, "Will you stay?"

Yuuri looked to the south. "I did tell my people that we might be gone into next summer. If the weather turned bad on us, I had planned to overwinter in Kashgar." He hesitated. "Will your prince regent have no objections?"

"Unlikely," Viktor said quickly. "He would want as much of your time as he can get."

"And you will not tire of me?"

Viktor's first response was a resounding no, but he paused when he saw the serious expression on Yuuri's face. "I do not know," Viktor said truthfully. "We have only known each other a few days. You may come to know me and find that I am a person who you grow bored with."

"Never," Yuuri said quickly. "Viktor, that will never happen." He shook his head. "But I will need to talk this over with Minami. He knew that our voyage would take a long time, but I cannot make this decision alone. If he wants to go home, I will go with him."

"As it should be," Viktor said. He felt strangely at peace now. Yuuri would likely stay, and Viktor would have all winter to talk to him, and to hold his hand, and kiss him. And, possibly, more.

Viktor was so happy he could hardly breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And only two more chapters to go… I wonder how this will go…
> 
> PS the change in the story ranking is for the content in chapter six, up next – Say, Saturday?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, when I started this story I hadn't planned for the narrative to go into this, er, depth, but sometimes when you're writing, you just go with it.

* * *

The prince regent was not as thrilled with the idea of Yuuri remaining for the winter as Viktor had expected. "Why does he want to stay if there are sword masters just as fine here in the north?" Yuri demanded, not looking up from his lettering.

Viktor and Yakov exchanged a glance. "As he has said, your highness, there is more for you to learn than simple swordplay," Viktor said carefully. "We have many skilled fighters here who can teach you how to wield a blade." As I told you months ago, he added to himself silently. "Katsuki Elvenslayer knows the politics of the east, as well as the ways of battle. He can aid you as you learn more about military matters."

Yuri heaved an irritated sigh.

"If you do not wish him to stay, I will tell him," Viktor went on. "He and his apprentice can leave as planned after the feast, their quest accomplished."

Yuri put down his quill. "What does he think he can teach me if he stays?"

Viktor had been preparing for this question. "He can only offer his experience in the world," Viktor said. "What he has seen and done, and what he hopes."

Yuri closed the lid on his inkpot, a sure sign he was done his calligraphy for the day. "And what does he hope?"

"He has hopes for peace, as would any old soldier," Viktor said self-deprecatingly. He ignored Yakov's scowl. "He wishes you strength, your highness, and he believes that strength comes from wisdom and understanding."

"What wisdom does he think he can give me?" Yuri demanded.

"You will have to ask him that," Viktor replied.

Yuri got to his feet to look out the window that had been illuminating his work. "I still want to learn how to handle a sword," he said.

"A wise and overdue endeavour," Viktor murmured.

"But…" Yuri frowned outside. "I was talking to Otabek."

It took Viktor a moment to pull young Altin to mind, and his eyebrows went up. What familiarity was this, for a prince regent to call a lowly soldier by his first name? Viktor would have to keep an eye on the situation. "And what did Altin say?" Viktor said.

"He said that a lot of the King's Guard like how the Elvenslayer thinks," Yuri said. "When he was sparring with the swordsmen, with the more novice ones, he took the time to teach them instead of knocking them flat."

Viktor wasn't sure where Yuri's thoughts were going, and he wondered what the two King's Guard stationed motionless by the door would make of it all. "As would any good sword master," Viktor agreed.

"Otabek also said that there are a lot of the King's Guard, and also soldiers who came back from the Elven Wars, who could tell me a thing or two about how things were."

Yakov stirred. "How things were? I do not recall you having a strong interest in history."

Yuri turned to the old man. "You have to know how things were, to figure out how to make things better," Yuri said vehemently. "You've been telling me that for years."

"And I was beginning to think you didn't listen to me," Yakov retorted. "You do not need the Elvenslayer here to learn from your elders."

"But I want him here," Yuri said before Viktor could object. "How can I rule the north on behalf of my grandfather the King, unless I know more of the world?" Yuri turned to Viktor. "Please, ask Katsuki Elvenslayer to stay in the palace overwinter. He can have whatever he wants as long as he stays."

Viktor bowed. "All he asks for is room and lodgings, and some winter clothing for him and his apprentice."

"Oh, right." Yuri made a face. "Minami."

Viktor straightened up. "Do you have a problem with Minami?"

"No, he's just…" Yuri made a motion with his hand. "Always happy. Who's always happy? Is that an eastern thing?"

"There are those in the north who find life to be a joy," Viktor pointed out. "Your cousin, Lady Mila, is one." He grinned. "And Father Yakov is happiness and sunshine under that dour expression."

Yakov's face was a sight to behold.

"In all truth," Viktor went on, hoping to deflect the prince regent from Yuuri's young apprentice, "The other thing I wished to speak to you about was Lady Mila."

"What about her?" Yuri asked.

"She is one of the King's Guard, in the archer division. It might make sense for you to speak with her about that arm of the forces. Already I am told she is on track to one day take a place of leadership in the ranks."

Yuri sat back at his desk to regard his drying calligraphy. "My grandfather never thought it wise that I connect with my father's family," he said.

Viktor pressed his hand to his leg, wondering how he could say this in a way that didn't end up sounding like treason. "That stricture from the King," began Viktor cautiously, "Grew from rivalries that had roots long before your birth. When the war came, we all had to hastily re-examine our loyalties to stay strong in the face of the enemy. The world we are in now, we had to rebuild from the ashes of the old one."

Yuri was staring at Viktor. "What does that mean?" he demanded.

"It means, your highness, that you have to decide what you will do. There's no one who can tell you who you can and cannot have in your life. As your advisers, myself, and Father Yakov, we can make suggestions, but you, prince regent, will have to decide if you wish to stay connected with your cousin, and others in your father's family." When Yuri was quiet, Viktor couldn't help but ask, "If you're not sure about Lady Mila, why did you invite her to dinner the other night?"

"I didn't," Yuri said. "One of the others did, Dmitry Orlovich or General Petr Morozevich." He didn't see Viktor's frown. "I will think on what you said."

"Very well," Yakov said as he hauled himself up. "Now, in an hour, your stewards will gather to review the bounty of this year's harvest with you, and you have to appear at your best."

Yuri groaned. "Why do I always have to dress up?"

"Because you sit in the throne, and you cannot shame the north by appearing as less than we are," Yakov harangued. "Many people work very hard to provide you with this finery."

"Fine," Yuri muttered. He turned to Viktor. "Tell—" He stopped himself. " _Ask_ Katsuki if we may have a lesson in swordsmanship tomorrow morning, before the King's Guard demonstrations."

Viktor nodded. "I will do so." Yuri dismissed him with a wave.

He made his way to the door, made a farewell reverence to the prince regent, and left the room. He was not expecting to find Yakov on his heels.

"What is it now?" Viktor asked, voice low in the crowded corridor. With the palace packed with nobles in for the feast, Viktor had made sure that the prince regent's quarters had an all-day guard, with extra guards moving about the palace to keep an eye on things. Yuuri's comments the previous day about someone who might wish Prince Yuri harm had jolted Viktor out of complacency.

And that meant that Viktor did not feel comfortable having his conversations about the prince regent overheard.

Yakov was glaring at Viktor. "Are you certain this is wise?" he asked in an equally low tone. "Keeping Katsuki here over the winter?"

"Have you seen anything else spur the prince regent into an interest in…" Viktor lowered his voice further. "In areas that he previously had not?"

"Bah," Yakov muttered. "I am too old for this. When old Nikolai asked me to advise him on religious matters, I should have said no, I am too busy making mead and cider."

"Why did he ask you, anyway?"

Yakov rubbed his chin. "He wanted a man of the people, of the common cloth."

"He probably couldn't get any cloth commoner than the stuff on you," Viktor agreed.

Yakov narrowed his eyes. "I should have left you on the doorstep as a baby," he growled. "Maybe taken you to the river for the rusalka to eat for breakfast."

Viktor smiled. Hearing Yakov lament keeping him and Georgi, in increasingly extravagant terms, had been a common theme in his childhood. He had missed the banter. "She would have taken you first, old man. More toothsome, yes?"

"Go away," Yakov said gruffly. "Go make dove eyes at your Elvenslayer or whatever it is you do after giving questionable advice to the prince regent.

"I don't give anyone questionable advice!" Viktor exclaimed. "Yakov, you wound me."

"Bah." Yakov turned around and stalked away.

"And I don't make dove eyes at anyone," Viktor said to the empty air before going off in search of Yuuri.

He found both Yuuri and Minami on the archery practice ground. Minami was showing off his skill with the eastern bow, a shorter contraption than the northern short bow. Viktor hobbled over to where Yuuri sat.

"The archers are very good," Yuuri said, never taking his eyes off the targets. "But I thought the northern army used longbows?"

"In a battle to pierce Elven armour, yes." Viktor lowered himself onto the bench beside Yuuri. "But for against the chain armour of men, the short bow is more than sufficient, and less likely to drag on the ground with shorter archers."

Yuuri nodded. "That makes sense." His eyes narrowed as Minami began climbing one of the wagons parked at the end of the archery range. Viktor, interested now, watched as the young man readied an arrow, then did a backflip off the wagon, firing mid-jump.

The arrow struck the outside edge of the target, and everyone cheered.

Everyone except Yuuri. The man said something under his breath in his own language, disapproval written on his features.

"He made the shot," Viktor said, smoothing down his beard.

"He missed his target for showing off," Yuuri replied.

"They're having fun."

"At the expense of accuracy?"

Viktor shrugged. It was not his place to tell Yuuri how to instruct his apprentice. "If you were a northern master, you would yell at him in front of everyone."

Yuuri shook his head. "I have never found shame to be a useful teacher. If I were to humiliate Minami in front of these other warriors, all he would remember would be that shame, not the lesson."

Viktor wretched his gaze off Yuuri to look at the group. Mila was there, along with a handful of the King's Guard's other elite archers. Minami stood out like a cuckoo in a crow's nest, with his dyed hair and his grey outfit among the red of the guard. He was grinning and talking, making himself understood even through the language barrier. "He is content to stay here this winter?"

"He is. He says there is much for him to learn from the other warriors, in a way he could not at home." Yuuri stirred. "And there is much for him to learn without an old man watching him. Would you walk with me, Viktor Ivanovich?"

Viktor beamed. "I would like nothing more!" They stood, Yuuri called something to Minami, and then they set off through the busy training grounds. "I have spoken with the prince regent."

"And?" Yuuri said. "Have I made a sufficient nuisance of myself? Am I asked to go?"

"Of course not." Viktor briefly related the conversation with Yuri. "I have to admit, I am curious as to this new acquaintance he cultivates with Otabek Altin."

"Why?" Yuuri asked. "Because of his lack of interest in the King's Guard?"

"Because Yuri has never been one to seek out the company of those his own age," Viktor said. He had to be cautious here, to balance his political duties with helping Yuuri understand the young prince regent. "All his life, after the deaths of his parents, he grew up surrounded by adults. It was perhaps isolating for the boy, but it was deemed best by his grandfather."

"He did not object?"

"No. He has always been a boy much interested in books and art. He has a masterful hand at calligraphy. I do not know where this recent desire to master the sword has come from."

Yuuri glanced at Viktor. "Could you find out?"

"Find out what?"

"What has spurred Prince Yuri to want to learn swordplay?"

"I could try." Viktor led Yuuri in the direction of the garden. There might be many courtiers there, but it would be less crowded than the training grounds. "Although with anything in this place, the answers are likely more tangled than a skein of wool left out in a rainstorm."

Yuuri laughed. "You make pictures with your words." Yuuri's cheeks were pink as he looked at Viktor. "It makes speaking with you a delight."

Viktor felt warm all over. "I must admit, when I speak with you, Yuuri, I am…" He searched for a word in the common language to describe everything that Yuuri was to him – exciting, exhilarating, arousing. In the end, he said, "Happy. I am happy."

Far from being put off by this prosaic statement, Yuuri smiled, his eyes shining. "Then I am doubly glad to remain in the north overwinter, that I may continue to make you… happy."

Something in the way that he said those words made Viktor remember their time in the meadow, the way Yuuri kissed him, how he kissed Yuuri in return. There had been no time that morning for them to have any time alone, but Viktor ached to feel Yuuri's lips on his again.

"Perhaps," Viktor suggested, hoping he didn't sound shameless, "We could return to the palace? There is something I wish to show you."

The smile faded from Yuuri's face, but the deep meaning in his eyes sent a shiver down Viktor's spine. "Of course, Viktor Ivanovich," Yuuri said. "And while we are there, we can discuss how best to go about highlighting the skills of the King's Guard for the prince regent."

"Of course." They turned in the direction of the palace, walking slowly so Viktor didn't strain his leg. They spoke of inconsequential matters all the way up the stairs and down the hallways. With the harvest feast so close, the King's Guard had been relieved of their daytime posts outside Yuuri's room, and there was no one to see Viktor and Yuuri enter Viktor's room.

Viktor barely had time to bolt the door before Yuuri was on him, pulling off his hat and pressing him against the door. When Yuuri's mouth met his, Viktor felt his bones melt at the sensation. Everything was Yuuri – his lips on Viktor's, his tongue in Viktor's mouth, his hands on Viktor's hips, and his body pressed against Viktor.

A curious whuff pulled Yuuri away for a moment. They both looked down at Makkachin, standing beside them and wagging his tail.

"I am seducing your master," Yuuri said to Makkachin seriously. "Go lie down."

Makkachin whuffed again and wandered back to the hearth.

"You're seducing me?" Viktor asked breathlessly. He nearly whimpered when Yuuri looked up at him under dark eyelashes

"If I may," Yuuri said. "I know that by staying, I would have all winter to demonstrate my… appreciation, but I find that after yesterday, my will is weakened."

"Oh." Never in his life had Viktor ever imagined being seduced, not as old and damaged as he was, and especially by the most beautiful man in the world. He found he rather liked the idea. "It is not good, to have a weak will."

"No, it is not." Yuuri shifted his hips, pressing against Viktor in a delightful way. Viktor let out a soft moan. "Will you help me to find a way to… strengthen my resolve?"

He pressed against Viktor again as he spoke, a shift almost like a stroke through all those layers of clothes. Viktor saw stars. "Yes, yes," Viktor whispered. He let his walking stick fall to the side so he could cup Yuuri's cheek in his hand. "Anything you want."

Yuuri turned his head to kiss Viktor's palm. "I want," he said, and kissed Viktor's palm again. "To take you to your bed, and remove our clothes, and lie together." He let Viktor draw him into another kiss. Viktor's knees went weak at the way Yuuri kissed him – hot and demanding, so deep that Viktor couldn't catch his breath.

"Yes," Viktor managed when Yuuri drew back for air. "Yes, I want that."

"But I'm not done," Yuuri said. He shifted his hips against Viktor's. "There's one more thing I want."

"Anything," Viktor gasped.

Yuuri put his lips to Viktor's ear. "I do not know how to say it in our shared tongue," he breathed. "But I want you…" His hands slid down to Viktor's hips. "I want you inside me."

This time, Viktor's knees did buckle. It was lucky he was still pressed between Yuuri and the door, otherwise he would have come to disaster. "We call that making love."

"I see." Yuuri nibbled at Viktor's earlobe, making him whimper. "Then would you make love with me?"

Viktor hoped that his breathless gasp was enough of an affirmative to Yuuri. He turned his head to seek Yuuri's lips again, and he fell back into the kiss.

"Yuuri," Viktor said after they broke apart, "You should know that I have never taken a lover."

"Mmm-hmm." Yuuri's hands slid around Viktor's waist.

"You might not find me very satisfying."

Yuuri's hands went to Viktor's sword belt. "Will you let me be the judge of that?"

Viktor whimpered as Yuuri's hand pressed right over his groin. "If that is what you wish."

Yuuri's kiss was gentle. "It is."

Taking a deep breath, Viktor straightened up. "Then let us start."

Yuuri smiled. "This started a long time ago," he said, pulling Viktor's sword belt away. He placed the sword on a nearby chair, then began to remove his own belt. "Is there anything I need to know?"

Viktor stayed where he was. "How do you mean?"

Yuuri put his sword on the chair beside Viktor's. "About northern customs," he said. His nimble fingers were making rapid work of the ties on his robe. "Is there anything I should not do? Any taboos?"

"I don't think so." Viktor was too busy watching Yuuri undress to be able to think. How captivating it was, to watch the fabric of a robe slide over a shoulder! "What about eastern customs?"

Yuuri let his robe fall to the floor. Underneath, he had on a linen shirt and trousers. Viktor had to swallow at seeing the line of his body under the light fabric. "All I ask is that you would not cut my hair."

Viktor lifted his head, surprise penetrating through his desire. "Cut your hair?" Viktor repeated in surprise. "Why would anyone do that?"

Yuuri paused in stepping out of his boots. "That might be more of an eastern thing," he said. "There are a lot of beliefs about hair."

"I would never do that," Viktor said. He pushed off the door, limping the few steps over to Yuuri. He reached out to run a finger down Yuuri's jaw. Yuuri turned into the touch. "Yesterday, when I touched your hair… was that taboo?"

"No." Yuuri managed to both kick off his boot and kiss Viktor's hand at the same time. "I wanted that."

"Good." Viktor watched as Yuuri kicked off his other boot. "I am beginning to feel overdressed."

"Oh?" Yuuri pulled his shirt over his head. Viktor's breath caught at the sight of the man's body. He was perfection, slender and muscular at the same time, with shoulders and arms so defined that Viktor ached to touch them. A trail of hair led from his naval down into his trousers, and when Yuuri put his hand to untie those trousers, Viktor had to swallow again. "Would you like me to help you with that?"

Viktor forgot to answer as Yuuri stepped out of his trousers. There he was, nude and beautiful and perfectly whole. Viktor reached out, and Yuuri stepped into the circle of his arm. "Yuuri," Viktor said, letting his fingers touch Yuuri's shoulder, his chest, down to his hip. Yuuri gasped. "You are too beautiful to want to lie down with an old man like me."

"Old man?" Yuuri raised his eyebrows as he began working on Viktor's jacket ties. "You are four years older than me. That is not old."

"Old and broken," Viktor said. His hand stroked down Yuuri's stomach, past his navel, down to the cock standing thick and hard away from Yuuri's body. When his hand closed around the length, Yuuri gasped and clutched at Viktor's jacket, his hips moving forward. Encouraged, Viktor made small strokes, marveling in the entranced expression on Yuuri's face, the soft gasps falling from his lips.

"You're not," Yuuri managed to get out his eyes closing. "You're not… oh, _Viktor_."

Viktor leaned forward to kiss Yuuri's open mouth, to swallow those precious sounds. His head was spinning and he never wanted it to stop.

With a groan, Yuuri pulled back. He reached down to still Viktor's hand. "I don't want to ruin your robe," he said breathlessly. Obediently, Viktor released his grip on Yuuri's cock and moved his hand to Yuuri's hip. "You have a very steady grasp."

"All that sword play," Viktor said. Yuuri resumed his efficient removal of Viktor's clothing. "It's important to have a firm grip on the hilt."

"As it is important to have a firm thrust," Yuuri said. He pushed Viktor's robe to the ground, then went to work on the ties of the undershirt. "I hope you have not let your skills at the blade become rusty."

"It is hard to know when one's skills have never been tested," Viktor said. He had never been undressed by anyone before, and the sensations of hands moving over his body were making his head spin. "This is an area where I hope raw talent might compensate for my lack of practice."

Yuuri pushed Viktor's shirt over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up. Viktor was struck with sudden qualms Yuuri seeing him like this, scarred and disfigured, and he turned his head away. But Yuuri moved in close, catching Viktor's mouth in a deep and lingering kiss. His hands moved over Viktor's chest, around to his back. "Beautiful," Yuuri breathed into Viktor's mouth. "That's what you are."

Viktor didn't know what to say, so instead he pulled Yuuri into his embrace. He could feel the stiff length of Yuuri's cock through his trousers, hard against Viktor's own, and he wanted more. If Yuuri hadn't been put off by the ruination of his upper body, the scar on his leg probably wouldn't be a problem.

"Yuuri," Viktor breathed. Yuuri looked up, his eyes dark with want. "Why aren't we in bed yet?"

Yuuri smiled. "You wear your boots to bed in the north?"

"Yuuri."

"Do you need help?"

"No, I can do it myself."

"Good." Yuuri stepped back, picking up his robe as Viktor kicked off his boots. After digging around for a minute, Yuuri pulled a small bottle out of a pocket and held it up. "Shall we?"

"What is that?" Viktor asked, limping over to his bed. He sat down to watch Yuuri walk towards him, all beautiful muscle and lean leg.

"An important ingredient." Still holding the bottle, Yuuri climbed up onto the bed, straddling Viktor. He squeezed Viktor's hips with his thighs, making Viktor groan. "It will help you…" He kissed the tip of Viktor's nose. "Ease into the situation."

"Ah." Viktor put his hand on Yuuri's hip, not sure if he wanted the man to stop moving, or to pick up the pace. "Maybe it would be easier to do that if I was out of these pants."

"Agreed." Yuuri put the little bottle down out of the way, then climbed off Viktor to let him haul himself up into the bed. As soon as he was lying straight, Yuuri's hands were on the trouser ties. Viktor obediently moved his hips as Yuuri tugged and pulled, and soon Viktor was as naked as Yuuri.

Yuuri sat back, staring. "What?" Viktor asked, going up on his elbow. The scarring on his leg wasn't that bad, was it?

"You," Yuuri said reverently, "Don't need to worry about needing to compensate for _anything_." He touched Viktor's cock, using both hands to stroke down its length. Viktor nearly passed out at the sensation, so much better than his own hand.

"Yes," he breathed, managing to open his eyes to watch Yuuri. There was anticipation and delight on Yuuri's face as he stroked Viktor with increasing speed. "Yuuri, I'm going to…"

"Good," Yuuri said. He shifted around to lie against Viktor, his hand still moving as he bent down to kiss Viktor. With Yuuri's hand on his cock and Yuuri's tongue in his mouth, Viktor let go, letting the sensations take him up, up, to a peak of pleasure, then his world exploded in ecstasy.

Viktor cried out into Yuuri's mouth, spilling his seed onto his stomach. Yuuri held him as he came down form the high, the world a soft and gentle haze. Viktor could only lie there and breathe, feeling Yuuri's weight on his side.

"How was that?" Yuuri asked once Viktor could see straight again.

"Your hand is magic," Viktor said, blinking up at the ceiling. Yuuri laughed against his throat. "That was…"

"Just the beginning," Yuuri said. He sat up and straddled Viktor's thighs. "It might be a while until you are ready again. May I?"

"Anything," Viktor said. He watched as Yuuri put his hand on his cock and began to stroke, slowly. "Do you want me to help?"

"Not right now," Yuuri said. He ran his other hand down his thigh. "I want you to watch."

Viktor swallowed. He lay beneath Yuuri, watching the man stroke himself. His free hand moved over his body, touching his chest, his abdomen, running down the inside of his thigh. Viktor had never imagined anything so erotic could exist, as watching Yuuri touch himself.

As his breath came faster, Yuuri's strokes were speeding up. A pink flush rose up his chest and neck as he rocked into his fist. Viktor could only lay there, pinned, as Yuuri pleasured himself while Viktor watched.

"Beautiful," Viktor said, reaching out to put his hand on Yuuri's leg. Yuuri jerked and opened his eyes, staring down at Viktor. "You're beautiful," Viktor said, encouraged. "Show me."

Yuuri let out a moan and closed his eyes again, his hand squeezing his cock. He came with another moan, shooting his seed over Viktor's chest. He stayed like that for a long moment, before slowly sliding down on top of Viktor.

"So beautiful," Viktor whispered in Yuuri's ear. The man lay still, breathing hard. "That was wonderful."

"Good." Yuuri shifted his head to rest on Viktor's shoulder. "Maybe next time…"

"Yes?"

"Maybe next time, we could switch places."

"Anything you want."

Yuuri hummed a few notes, then lay still. Viktor stared up at the ceiling, wondering. He had known for a very long time how sex worked, but he had never thought how it could feel, beyond just the sensation of a hand on his cock. It must have been Yuuri, Viktor thought. It must be something special about Yuuri.

After a while, Yuuri sat up. "I am getting lazy," he grumbled.

"You do not seem so," Viktor objected.

"I am." Yuuri slid off the bed, walking back over to where he had left his clothes. Viktor was fascinated by the way he moved, the muscles in his back, the flex of his perfect buttocks. "Maybe it that I am tired after my long journey."

He returned to the bed carrying a small cloth. "What is that for?" Viktor asked, wondering if this was some eastern custom with which he was not familiar.

"This?" Yuuri climbed back on top of Viktor. "I was always told that it was not nice to make a mess and not clean it up."

Viktor smiled as Yuuri very gently wiped his chest. "You are thoughtful," he said.

"I try to be." Yuuri tossed the cloth to the ground. He lay back on top of Viktor, resting his head against Viktor's shoulder once more. "Oh, Viktor, I have wanted this."

"You have it." Viktor ran his hand up Yuuri's back. "And I have you."

Yuuri propped himself up on his elbow. "You do," he agreed solemnly. "For as long as you want."

He touched Viktor's face, traced his eyebrows and cheekbones, then played with the end of Viktor's mustache. Viktor in turn toyed with the end of Yuuri's long braid, enjoying the silky feel of the hair. It reminded him of what Yuuri had said when he was undressing. "Yuuri."

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a question?"

Yuuri tapped the end of Viktor's nose. "Yes."

"Will you tell me more about how your people think of hair?"

Yuuri kissed Viktor's forehead. "It will sound silly," he cautioned. "Lots of things sound silly to those of another culture."

"I am certain it is not silly," Viktor protested. "But if you do not want talk about it…"

Yuuri sighed. "It is not that." He sat up. "I am not certain it will make any sense."

Viktor put his hand on Yuuri's stomach. "I would like to hear anything you want to tell me, and nothing that you do not."

Yuuri covered Viktor's hand with his own. He was silent for a minute, then he shifted over to pick up the little bottle he had left at the edge of the bed. "It is one of those customs that no one really knows why or when it began," he said as he straddled Viktor's hips. The brush of skin over Viktor's cock sent a jolt though his body.

Yuuri put the bottle by his knee, then sat back. He untied the narrow leather thong at the end of his braid.

"In the east, it is a custom for a boy or a girl to shave their head when they are taken into service as an apprentice to a warrior." Viktor watched, mesmerized, as Yuuri began to unbraid his hair. "That is why Minami's hair is so short. He shaved his head two years ago when I finally agreed to take him as apprentice."

The long tresses of Yuuri's hair flowed under his fingers, thick and straight and glossy in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the room's window.

"Warriors want to have long hair, it makes them look important, like they were taken into training at an early age. There are paintings of soldiers with long hair, of old people with hair down to their feet after a long life in battle."

His hair unbound, Yuuri pulled it all over one shoulder. The length of it reached past his navel.

"And what of you?" Viktor asked. He let the ends of Yuuri's hair tickle his fingers.

Yuuri was somber. "When I was taken up by that band of soldiers heading to fight in the west, they shaved my head," he said. "I was eleven."

"You haven't cut your hair in thirteen years?"

"No."

Viktor ran his hand down Yuuri's thigh. "Men of the north keep their hair at shoulder length," he said. "Women grown theirs out long."

"Ah," Yuuri said. "I did wonder."

"You don't mind?"

In answer, Yuuri bent down to kiss Viktor. His hair fell to the side, the long locks curiously heavy on Viktor's shoulder. "Do you?"

Viktor pulled Yuuri back down for another kiss. Yuuri stretched out on top of Viktor, their bodies moving together in a gentle rhythm. The room was quiet around them, with only the distant sounds of busy palace life filtering through the window.

After a while, Yuuri sat up. There was a new expression on his face, desire mixed with that shyness Viktor had noted days before. "May I?" he asked.

"Yes," Viktor said quickly. "Whatever you want, yes."

Yuuri bit his lower lip trying not to smile. "Do you even know what I'm asking?"

"It does not matter, you can have it."

Yuuri's smile grew. "What if I said I wanted to use a little of this," and he picked up the small bottle. "And put it on here," as his hand stroked Viktor's cock. "And then take you inside me?"

Viktor flung back his head as Yuuri's talented fingers squeezed his length. "Yes, yes, all of that, _yes_."

"Good." Yuuri mercifully let go, and Viktor was able to shove a fold of the sleeping fur under his head so he could watch Yuuri without breaking his neck.

Unstoppering the vial, Yuuri poured a small bit of oil onto his hand, which he then rubbed all over Viktor's cock. The sensation of Yuuri's hand on him, without drag of skin-on-skin, made Viktor moan.

"Slow," Yuuri whispered, more to himself than to Viktor, as he poured more oil into his palm. Capping the vial, Yuuri put it down before reaching around his back. Viktor watched, fascinated, as whatever Yuuri was doing made him close his eyes in concentration, his mouth opening in a soft sigh.

"Go as slow as you need," Viktor suggested. Yuuri opened his eyes to smile down at Viktor.

"I thought that was what I should say." Yuuri shifted up the bed a few inches, took Viktor's cock in his hand, and lowered himself with a painstaking slowness.

Viktor groaned as Yuuri sank down. Yuuri's hands had been nothing compared to this, all tight and slick and hot around Viktor. The soft needy sound that came out of Yuuri's mouth was music on the air.

"Oh, _Viktor_ ," Yuuri whispered. He paused, then rose with that same steady slowness. Up and down, Yuuri rocked, taking just the tip of Viktor's cock inside him.

It was a good thing that Yuuri had caused him to spill himself earlier, Viktor thought distantly as he watched Yuuri move. Otherwise he might have erupted just from this alone.

After an eternity, Yuuri rose all the way and pulled off Viktor. Viktor gave an involuntary protest as Yuuri reached for the bottle of oil again.

"Patience," Yuuri scolded. He trickled oil over Viktor's straining cock with something close to abandon. "If you want me to ride in your saddle, you need to give me time to get used to the size of the mount."

"Whatever you want," Viktor said, grabbing a handful of the sheet to keep still. "Just… please."

Putting the capped vial off to the side again, Yuuri straddled Viktor's hips. The new slickness must have given Yuuri what he needed, for he slipped down on Viktor's cock, swallowing almost half of him in one movement. The sharp gasp Yuuri gave quickly turned into a moan of pleasure as he began to move.

Viktor was breathing so hard he wondered if he might hyperventilate. The tight squeeze of Yuuri's body more amazing than anything Viktor imagined, fever-hot as Yuuri sank down. He rose up again, shifting his hips, then back down, this time pushing until Viktor's entire length was inside Yuuri.

Yuuri's thighs were shaking as he pressed down. He was breathing hard, his hands balled up in the sheets on either side of Viktor's body. With a deliberate movement, Yuuri pulled up, then rolled his hips back down. As Viktor's cock buried deep inside him again, Yuuri let out a low moan.

"Yes?" Viktor asked, touching Yuuri's wrist.

Yuuri blinked up at him, his eyes dark and wide. His mouth was open, panting, and Viktor had never imagined that anyone could be so beautiful in their passion. "Yes," Yuuri whispered back. That pink flush had risen again on his skin. "Can I ride you? Please?"

"You can do whatever you want with me," Viktor said, and in that moment, it was complete truth.

Yuuri nodded, his eyes half-closing again. Letting go of the sheets, Yuuri straightened up. He rose, nearly pulling off Viktor, before sliding back down. He let out a sharp moan as he bottomed out, a sound that Viktor echoed as his length was sheathed fully in Yuuri's body. Then Yuuri did it again, and again, riding Viktor with a passion bordering on fervor.

Viktor, too, sank into the movement, as best he was able. His hips thrust up to meet Yuuri's downstroke, drawing soft cries from the man. They kept at it, time losing all meaning as they moved together. Viktor could only tell that Yuuri was close when the tenor of his moans changed, and he grabbed at Viktor's hand.

"Here," he groaned, pressing Viktor's hand over his own hard shaft. Well, Viktor at least knew how this went. He stroked as Yuuri continued to ram himself down on Viktor's cock, until with one final thrust, he cried out and went tense, squeezing Viktor's cock in his body. The surprise carried Viktor away, and he tipped over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside Yuuri.

Yuuri stayed where he was for a long moment, seated on Viktor. It took Viktor a few long blinks to realize that Yuuri was shaking.

"Come here," Viktor said, pulling at Yuuri's arm. Slowly, Yuuri rose off Viktor and let himself be pulled down into Viktor's embrace. "Are you hurt?"

Yuuri pressed his face against Viktor's neck. "I wanted this for so long," Yuuri whispered, holding Viktor tight. "I wanted this, and it was _perfect_."

"You're not hurt?" Viktor asked again. From what little he knew of anatomy, sometimes it could hurt when taking a cock inside the way Yuuri had, but he had seemed to be enjoying himself quite a lot.

"No." Yuuri lifted his head for long enough to kiss Viktor. "The way that you made love with me, was perfect."

Viktor put his head down, letting Yuuri curl up around him. "It was perfect," he agreed.

Yuuri made a sleepy sound. "Let's do it again. Soon.""

Viktor closed his eyes. "And when will that be?"

"Mmm. Half an hour," Yuuri said.

"You have a lot of faith in an old man's constitution," Viktor said.

Yuuri propped himself up again. "You don't?" There was something captivating about the half-smile on the man's face. "You don't want to do all that over again?" He ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Maybe I can be under you?"

In spite of being twice spent, Viktor shivered with the idea.

"Whatever you want." Yuuri was staring at Viktor. "Make love with me, to figure out what you like."

"I like the way you sound," Viktor blurted out. Yuuri blinked in surprise. "When you were moving. You made the most amazing sounds."

"Viktor!" Yuuri protested, his face going red.

"What?" Viktor asked. Yuuri had seduced him twice in the span of an hour, and that was what made him blush? "Such amazing noises."

Yuuri rolled away, hiding his face in the sheets. Viktor went after him, kissing his shoulders and back in reassurance. "Now I'm going to think about how I sound!" Yuuri complained.

"If you can still think about it, then I will know I am not doing a good enough job," Viktor said frankly. "Yes?"

Yuuri mumbled into the mattress.

"Good." Viktor let himself relax, most of his weight on Yuuri. The room grew quiet as they rested in each other's arms. "Yuuri, thank you."

"I need to thank you," Yuuri said quietly. "I wanted this so much, but I never imagined it would be so good."

"Hopefully, as my skills are put to the test of practice, I will improve for you."

Yuuri turned in Viktor's arm. "Will we do this again?" he asked hopefully. "I do not wish to presume, but… as I am staying overwinter…"

Viktor kissed Yuuri, a long, deep kiss that stole away his breath. When they finally broke apart, Viktor said, "Winters in the north can be extremely long, and there is not much to do in the long evenings."

Yuuri's eyes were steady on Viktor's face as he said, "Then may I share your bed on some of those nights?"

"Yes, Viktor whispered. He let Yuuri pull him back down for another kiss, and he was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be a few more days with chapter 7 - I have to go back to work on Monday and we'll see - hopefully by next weekend. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to get notifications of when a new chapter is posted, hop on up to the top of the page and click subscribe - AO3 will send an email notification. It's a handy feature and one of the many reasons I love this site.
> 
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